B«ught 
BERTRANB 
14O  Pacffic 

LONG  Bt 
CALIFC 


JVIary  Lowe  Dickinson 


7  /^/</  zV  truth,  with  him  who  sings 
To  one  clear  harp  in  divers  tones, 
That  men  may  rise  on  stepping-stones 

Of  their  dead  selves  to  higher  things. 

Tennyso* 


PHILADELPHIA         A.  J.   ROWLAND  MDCCCXCV 


Copyright  1895  by 
CHARLES  H.  BANES 


FOR  MORE  THAN  A  QUARTER  OF  A  CEN- 
TURY MY  FRIEND  AND  CO-WORKER,  I 
GRATEFULLY  INSCRIBE  THIS  STORY  OF 
A  LIFE'S  TEMPTATION,  DEFEAT,  RE- 
DEMPTION, AND  SUCCESS. 


1711-117 


PRELUDE 


It  is  useless  to  try  to  make  a  story  out  of  anything 
that  is  not  worth  telling  for  the  story  s  sake  alone  ;  and 
that  only  is  a  real  story  which  tells  itself,  or  in  which, 
in  other  words,  the  characters  live  their  lives  out  and 
beguile  us  into  living  with  them  as  we  read.  There 
may  even  be  a  true  story  with  little  plot,  few  exciting 
episodes  or  startling  events,  no  elaborate  descriptions, 
and  no  analysis  of  human  nature.  All  these  are 
important  but  not  essential  factors  in  fiction,  as  they 
are  important  but  not  essential  factors  in  life.  There 
may  be  a  genuine  story  or  a  genuine  life  without  any 
one  of  these  ;  if  it  retains  the  one  essential  and  virile 
element  of  reality,  it  will  be  a  thing  altogether  alive. 

Whatever  may  be  lacking  in  the  nature  of  Kath- 
arine Gray,  we  hope  that  this  essential  element  of 
reality  and  vitality  is  strong  enough  to  beguile  the 

5 


6  PRELUDE 

readers  into  living  her  whole  life  out  with  her  after 
they  have  once  been  admitted  to  the  arena  of  her 
struggles,  successes,  and  defeats.  Here  was  an  ordi- 
nary woman,  without  extraordinary  environment, 
sivayed  by  the  passion  of  a  mighty  mother-love,  dom- 
inated and  held  captive  by  that  love,  and  yielding  to 
the  temptation  to  commit  a  wrong  becaiise  of  care  for 
one  beloved.  It  is  no  original  or  unusual  type.  The 
world  is  full  of  women  who  would  do  anything  and 
dare  anything  that  is  right  for  the  sake  of  a  be- 
loved child.  The  question,  whether  the  love  that 
makes  a  woman  do  wrong  is  really  a  greater  love 
than  that  which  simply  suffers  and  endures,  is  one 
that  this  story  aims  to  answer. 

To  live  and  suffer  and  toil  and  endure  for  the 
sake  of  a  beloved  child,  that  is  a  noble  but  not  un- 
common type.  To  dare  all  things  and  defy  all 
things  for  the  love  of  a  child,  to  do  wrong  for  its 
sake  until,  under  the  slow  deteriorating  process  by 
which  the  convictions  are  deadened,  one  comes  to 
choose  wrong-doing  for  ones  own  sake,  and  to  cling 
to  wrong-doing  tintil  its  mark  and  -blight  is  upon 
everything  one  touches,  is  a  form  of  woman  s  de- 
velopment that  few,  except  students  of  human  na- 
ture, would  ever  care  to  trace,  however  dramatically 
presented.  Yet,  once  having  entered  into  the  secret 


PRELUDE  7 

of  the  life  of  Katharine  Gray,  we  are  convinced  few 
will  fail  to  go  with  her  to  the  end. 

In  her  life  we  trace  the  progress  of  a  human 
soul  loving  mucky  willing  to  labor,  willing  to  sacri- 
fice, choosing  much  that  is  good,  yet  always  hiding 
a  canker-worm,  at  the  very  heart  and  root  of  the 
life.  And  the  story  shows  how  the  very  lack  of  con- 
science and  the  lack  of  right  motive  may  not  only  be 
like  a  worm  at  the  root  of  the  personal  life,  but  that 
just  so  far  as  that  spirit  permeates  any  or  every  good 
work  undertaken,  it  poisons  and  destroys.  It  shows 
how  philanthropic  work,  reform  work,  attempts  to  lift 
the  poor  and  degraded,  efforts  to  advance  the  progress 
of  women  in  every  line,  may  all  be  outwardly  pros- 
perous and  successful,  and  yet  for  lack  of  right  prin- 
ciple be  destructive  instead  of  helpful. 

The  whole  record  is  one  long  illustration  of  the 
futility  of  building  houses  upon  the  sand,  of  making 
bricks  without  straw,  of  attempting  to  do  noble  work  in 
any  of  the  world 's  fields  with  tlie  brain  or  the  hands, 
without  purity  of  heart  and  honesty  of  purpose ;  a 
lesson  of  tJie  vahie  and  importance  of  an  active  reli- 
gious principle  moving  in  the  innermost  life  of  every 
woman  who  longs  to  be  a  blessing  in  her  home,  and 
to  take  her  share  in  alleviating  the  miseries  of  the 
world. 


8  PRELUDE 

This  book  is  sent  forth  therefore  in  the  hope  that 
•whatever  other  mission  it  may  fulfill  it  may  deepen 
the  conviction  of  the  utter  uselessness  and  folly  of 
attempting  to  upbuild  life  and  character  on  any 
superstructure  except  that  of  absolute  honor  and  un- 
selfish adherence  to  "whatsoever  things  are  true." 

M.  L.  D. 

New  Yurk,  October,  zSqj. 


THE 

TEMPTATION  OF  KATHARINE  GRAY 


CHAPTER  I 

"  TT  is  not  that   I  will  not,  but  that   I  cannot, 

1  Robert.  You  took  the  money  that  came 
from  my  last  work,  and  for  this  I  have  not  been 
paid." 

"  It  was  only  a  trifle,  and  I  did  not  take  all. 
What  have  you  done  with  the  rest  ? " 

"  Used  it  for  fuel  and  food ;  most  of  it  for  you 
and  the  child.  There  is  not  enough  to  pay  the  rent 
of  this  wretched  room.  Would  you  have  me  put 
my  child  in  the  almshouse,  that  you  might  have 
more  to  spend  in  gambling  and  in  drink  ? "  and  she 
cast  upon  the  man  such  a  look  of  scorn  as  caused 
him  to  pause  in  his  angry  stride  up  and  down  the 
room,  and  brought  a  muttered  curse  to  his  lips. 

They  were  still  young,  this  wretched  pair,  he  not 
over  twenty-seven,  she  some  years  younger  ;  but 
dissipation  had  taken  all  true  manliness  out  of 
Robert  Gray's  face,  as  sorrow  and  irritation  had 
taken  grace  and  charm  from  the  once  lovely  fea- 
tures of  his  wife. 

The  room  was  high  up  in  a  tenement  house  in 
Brand  Street,  a  thoroughfare  in  one  of  the  poorest 

9 


10  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

sections  of  Chicago.  It  was  cheerless  at  the  best, 
and  only  the  lack  of  dirt  prevented  its  being  squalid. 
Katharine  Gray,  as  she  sat  close  under  the  window, 
stitching  steadily  at  a  half-made  garment,  never 
stopping  her  work  even  when  she  gave  back  some 
cold  reply  to  her  husband's  querulous  demands,  set 
one  thinking  of  a  dark  summer  flower  suddenly 
winter-killed  ;  certainly  the  warm  currents  of  happy 
youthful  life  had  been  chilled  into  bitterness  and 
scorn. 

She  married  Robert  Gray  much  against  the 
wishes  of  her  parents.  Dazzled  by  his  good  looks, 
his  father's  wealth,  and  his  brilliant  prospects,  she 
tried  to  deceive  herself  into  the  belief  that  love  of 
them  meant  love  of  him.  Her  reaping  time  fol- 
lowed all  too  swiftly  upon  such  willful  sowing,  for 
no  sooner  was  her  husband  sure  of  her  than  he  cut 
off  all  communication  between  her  and  those  who 
had  ventured  to  disapprove  of  him.  He  began 
almost  at  once  to  pursue  such  courses  of  willful 
pleasure  as  alienated  him  from  his  own  father  who, 
while  he  refused  him  money  to  nourish  his  vices, 
yet  blamed  the  young  wife  for  not  being  able  to 
hold  them  in  check. 

Yet  Robert  had  not  been  altogether  an  evil  lad. 
He  was  only  the  natural  product  of  unlimited  indul- 
gence in  his  childhood  and  almost  unlimited  money 
in  his  youth.  Every  one  who  had  loved  him  had  fur- 
nished him  with  funds,  until  he  came  to  value  father 
and  mother  and,  when  their  supplies  failed,  even  his 
wife,  according  to  the  measure  in  which  she  was  able 
to  supply  his  constant  need.  Sometimes  he  was  for- 
tunate at  the  gambling  table,  and  then  he  was  lav- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  II 

ish  as  lucky.  But  little  by  little  they  had  come 
to  where  occasional  "luck"  could  not  be  depended 
upon  for  constantly  recurring  need,  and  upon  Kath- 
arine had  now  for  a  long  time  fallen  the  support 
of  herself  and  her  child ;  and  small  as  her  earnings 
were,  she  never  knew  when  her  husband  might 
come  and  by  violence  or  threats  take  the  last  dollar 
from  her  purse.  Sometimes  she  pitied  and  was 
kind  to  him.  Sometimes  she  was  in  such  des- 
peration that  she  gave  him  what  she  had,  in  the 
hope  that  he  would  win ;  for  the  conscience  that 
would  once  have  revolted  against  money  so  won, 
had  lost  its  fine  sensitiveness  under  the  awful  fric- 
tion of  rough  necessities. 

There  were  times  when  she  almost  hated  Robert, 
and  then  she  gave  him  money  to  get  him  out  of  her 
sight  ;  and  sometimes,  as  to-day,  she  would  not  give 
it  to  him  at  all.  One  threat  alone  moved  her, 
though  she  was  careful  that  he  should  never  see 
that  it  did ;  and,  failing  of  other  means,  he  tried 
that  threat  to-day. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Kate,  I'm  not  going  to  be 
told  all  my  life  that  I  can  never  have  anything  I 
want  because  of  that  child.  I  have  plenty  of  rich 
relations  who  would  be  glad  to  have  her.  My  father 
would  take  her,  if  he  could  only  be  sure  I  would  go 
away  and  never  show  myself  again.  But  mind  you, 
Mistress  Proud-face,  he  wouldn't  allow  you  to  come 
near  her  either." 

"  I  don't  believe  he  would  touch  the  child,  Robert, 
so  you  might  as  well  cease  to  harp  upon  that  string. 
And  if  he  would,  he  shall  never  have  her  while  God 
gives  me  strength  to  earn  her  bread." 


12  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  But  he  would  take  her ;  he  has  told  me  so  more 
than  once." 

"  When  ?  "  she  asked,  sharply,  turning  upon  him. 

"  Never  you  mind  when,"  he  answered,  surlily ; 
"  whenever  I  ask  him  for  money  to  take  care  of  her." 

"  You  seek  for  money  to  take  care  of  her  ?  The 
child  would  have  been  in  her  grave  if  keeping  her 
from  starvation  had  depended  upon  you — and  you 
know  that  very  well,"  she  answered  with  unmeas- 
ured scorn.  "  And  you  know  very  well  too,  that 
if  I  have  not  taken  care  of  her  it  has  not  been  be- 
cause 1  could  not.  I  earn  more  than  enough  for 
us  two." 

"  Take  care  how  you  provoke  me,"  he  answered, 
"  or  I  will  show  you  whose  child  she  is,  and  whether 
I  can  provide  for  her  or  not." 

She  tried  to  steady  her  voice,  trembling  with  rage, 
while  her  heart  owned  to  a  deeper  tremor  of  fear. 

"  God  knows  how  glad  I  would  be,  Robert,  if  you 
would  show  that  you  could  take  care  of  us  all." 

"  Give  me  the  money  then,  and  let  me  have  a 
chance  to-day." 

"  I  cannot." 

"Which  means  that  you  do  not  choose.  Then 
the  consequences  be  on  your  own  head,"  and  he 
angrily  closed  the  door  upon  her.  Then  for  the 
first  time,  she  dropped  her  work,  and  rushing  to  the 
bedside,  threw  her  arms  over  the  sleeping  form  of 
her  little  girl.  Burying  her  face  in  the  pillow  she 
gave  vent  to  uncontrollable  sobs.  All  her  bitterness 
and  hatred  and  scorn,  all  her  impatience  at  the  suf- 
fering which  her  blinded  eyes  could  not  see  was  the 
result  of  her  own  choice,  were  lost  in  one  rush  of 


KATHARINE   GRAY  13 

terror  lest  the  exasperated  man  should  fulfill  his 
threat,  and  take  her  child  away. 

That  night  so  possessed  was  she  by  nervous 
dread,  that  she  lay  long  awake,  quivering  at  the 
sound  of  every  footstep  on  the  stairs ;  but  the  slow 
hours  passed,  and  her  husband  did  not  come.  Unre- 
freshed  by  slumber  she  rose  before  the  dawn,  moving 
about  softly  lest  her  darling  should  awaken,  and 
making  the  little  fire,  prepared  breakfast  for  the 
child,  tasting  no  morsel  herself,  and  casting  fre- 
quent nervous  glances  toward  the  door.  She  went 
aimlessly  about,  opening  closets  and  looking  into  the 
drawers.  Once  she  paused  and  took  down  from 
a  hook  a  worn  traveling  bag,  and  stood  absently 
gazing  into  its  empty  depths,  as  if  unable  to  decide 
what  step  to  take.  Then  her  bewildered  purpose 
clearing  she  seated  herself  at  her  table  and  began  to 
write.  It  was  not  a  long  letter,  but  was  written  with 
a  troubled  face  and  slow  tears  stealing  down  and 
blotting  it  here  and  there.  When  it  was  done  she 
placed  it  carefully  in  her  pocket,  and  turned  with  a 
heavy  sigh  and  a  hard,  set  look  upon  her  face,  to 
the  night's  unfinished  work. 

Hardly  had  she  begun  when  a  baby  voice  called 
"  Mamma,"  and  a  little  sunny  head  lifted  from  the 
pillow,  and,  in  a  moment  was  performed  for  her 
that  oft-repeated  miracle  that  changes  the  hard,  in- 
jured wife  into  the  tender  mother,  under  the  magic 
of  child-arms  about  the  neck  and  rosy  lips  melting 
the  heart  with  kisses.  She  looked  almost  happy  as 
she  bathed  the  white  limbs  and  brushed  out  the 
tangled  hair,  and  fed  the  babe  upon  her  knee. 

The  child  was  called  Gretta,  for  the  mother  whom 


14  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

she  had  not  seen  since  the  day  she  turned  her  back 
on  all  her  love  and  prayers  to  follow  Robert  Gray. 
As  she  caressed  the  little  one  her  hand  dropped 
upon  her  dress,  and  she  felt  the  letter  in  her  pocket. 
Drawing  it  forth  she  looked  long  at  it  and  at  the 
child.  Should  she  send  it  ?  Was  it  fair  to  take 
her  away  from  him  because  she  feared  he  would 
take  the  child  from  her  ?  Suddenly  the  little  girl 
reached  up  her  baby  hand,  seized  the  letter,  and 
lifting  her  laughing  eyes  to  her  mother,  toddled  as 
fast  as  her  little  legs  could  bear  her  toward  the  fire. 
Her  mother  started  after  her,  when  the  door  opened 
and  her  husband  staggered  in,  in  the  savage  state  of 
semi-intoxication  that  usually  characterized  these 
early  morning  returns.  Embarrassed  for  the  mo- 
ment she  slipped  the  letter  under  her  work  on  the 
table,  thinking  he  had  not  seen  it ;  and  when  he 
ordered  her  to  get  breakfast  for  him,  she  tied  Gretta 
into  the  high-chair,  and  ran  down  to  the  store  in  the 
basement  of  the  building  for  a  little  coffee  and  a 
couple  of  eggs.  She  was  not  gone  long,  but  the 
stairs  were  steep  and  high,  and  there  was  time 
enough  for  Robert  to  read  that  letter  and  to  slip  it 
into  his  own  pocket.  It  said  but  few  words,  but 
enough  to  exasperate  the  man,  though,  contrary  to 
his  usual  custom,  he  did  not  storm  at  her,  or  betray 
by  anything  beyond  a  drunken  sneer  that  he  had 
seen  it.  It  was  written  to  her  sister  in  her  far-away 
home  in  Massachusetts,  and  it  told  her  that  life 
under  present  conditions  had  become  insupportable, 
that  she  had  resolved  to  live  it  no  longer,  that  all 
these  years  she  had  been  held  back  from  writing, 
first  by  Robert's  reluctance,  and  later  by  her  shame 


KATHARINE  GRAY  15 

at  the  result  of  her  marriage,  of  which  she  now  re- 
pented with  all  her  soul*.  It  did  not  mention  her 
child,  but  it  told  her  she  was  going  East  at  her  first 
opportunity,  and  begged  for  one  word  from  her 
sister  telling  her  that  she  should  have  a  welcome, 
and  asking  to  come  to  her  until  she  could  find  work. 

Sobered  by  the  strong  coffee,  Robert  went  away 
without  a  word.  In  that  letter,  proving  that  his 
wife  meant  to  forsake  him  and  to  rob  him  of  his 
child,  his  muddled  brain  saw  that  he  had  a  plea  to 
use  with  his  father,  who  could  hardly  fail  to  consent 
to  save  his  grandchild  from  such  a  mother.  Once 
in  the  old  man's  care  he  would  take  his  chances  of 
the  child's  winning  her  way  to  his  affection.  And 
once  securely  installed  in  the  old  home  he  would 
trust  farther  to  be  able  to  win  his  own  way  back  to 
his  father's  heart,  which  would  all  be  on  the  way  to 
his  pocket,  which  pocket  was  the  ultimate  destina- 
tion of  his  desires. 

So  long  as  his  wife  loved  or  feared  him  he  could 
impress  her  with  his  need  for  money,  and  rouse  her 
to  great  exertions  for  its  supply.  But  this  small  re- 
source was  fast  failing  him.  Her  scorn  and  indig- 
nation angered  him.  To  be  rid  of  her  and  her  re- 
proaches would  be  a  relief,  if  she  could  not  longer 
be  made  to  minister  to  his  needs.  To  rob  her  of 
the  child  would  be,  so  he  thought,  no  more  than  a 
woman  deserved  who  had  no  better  sense  of  the 
duty  she  owes  her  husband  than  Katharine  had. 
Besides,  the  child  was  his  only  avenue  to  the  hearts 
of  his  parents.  They  had  money  ;  Katharine  had 
none ;  and  money  was  essential  to  his  indulgent, 
imbruted  life.  So  the  mind,  grown  too  selfish 


1 6  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

to  consider  any  interest  but  his  own,  and  too  cow- 
ardly for  open  crime,  was  ^et  equal  to  scheming  to 
rebuild  his  own  reputation  on  the  ruin  of  that  of 
his  wife. 

Full  of  this  idea  he  sought  his  mother,  a  woman 
as  weak  as  she  was  proud,  in  her  pleasant  home  on 
the  west  side,  a  substantial  mansion  surrounded  by 
pleasant  grounds,  built  before  Chicago  grew  so 
crowded  as  to  make  gardens  a  luxury  beyond  reach 
of  any  but  millionaires. 

When  Katharine  Hunt,  the  child  of  an  unknown 
and  poor  New  England  country  pastor,  had  come 
to  Chicago  to  visit  a  family  whose  country  home 
was  among  the  hills  near  her  father's  church,  and 
her  son  Robert  had  fallen  in  love  with  her,  Mrs. 
Gray  had  violently  opposed  his  choice.  His  father 
had  made  a  fortune  in  grain,  and  her  boy  was  there- 
fore justly  entitled  to  an  alliance  with  another  for- 
tune, and  Kate's  father  had  not  the  faintest  prospect 
of  making  a  fortune  in  godliness,  which  was  his 
only  stock  in  trade.  Treasures  in  heaven  were  well 
enough,  according  to  the  Grays'  unspoken  creed, 
after  people  got  there  to  enjoy  them,  but  would  not 
serve  in  this  world  instead  of  silver  and  gold.  So, 
though  after  a  time  she  forgave  her  boy  for  marry- 
ing Kate,  she  never  forgave  Kate  for  marrying  her 
boy,  and  quite  naturally  had  held  her  responsible 
ever  since  for  the  growth  in  his  nature  of  the  tares 
which  her  own  mother-hand  had  planted.  And  her 
husband,  astute  among  men  and  able  to  see  Robert's 
faults  and  to  resist  his  constant  demands  for  money, 
yet,  as  is  not  uncommon,  saw  all  other  women 
through  the  eyes  of  the  one  woman  who  was  the 


KATHARINE  GRAY  17 

light  of  his  own,  and  was  quite  willing  to  find 
Katharine  in  everything  at  fault.  And  she,  who  was 
not  overburdened  with  any  tendency  to  self-efface- 
ment, and  had  never  even  tried  on  the  recommended 
"ornament  of  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit,"  would 
not  pretend  that  she  did  not  think  herself  good 
enough  for  Bob.  And  so  the  proud  old  woman  and 
the  prouder  young  one  never  came  nearer  than  at 
first,  and  gradually  drifted  farther  and  farther  apart. 

It  was  not  hard,  therefore,  for  Robert,  shorn  and 
shaven  and  pale,  with  that  letter  in  the  pocket  of 
his  threadbare  coat,  to  confirm  his  mother's  long- 
cherished  faith  in  the  unworthiness  of  his  wife ; 
and  to  make  her  feel  that  Katharine  gone,  and  the 
child  once  in  her  own  care,  she  would  soon  have  her 
petted  boy  reformed  and  reinstated  in  her  home. 

It  was  a  long  interview  between  mother  and  son, 
ending  in  all  good  promises  on  his  part,  while  on 
hers  she  was  to  try  and  induce  his  father  to  allow 
the  child  to  come.  She  wisely  avoided  the  subject 
until  after  dinner,  when  the  lamp  was  shaded,  the 
slippers  warm,  and  the  generous  glow  of  the  glass 
of  wine  which  his  boy  had  learned  to  sip  at  his  own 
table  was  still  reddening  the  old  man's  face. 

"  Robert  was  here  to-day,"  she  said,  with  a  side- 
long glance  at  his  flushed  forehead  as  she  passed 
him  the  evening  paper.  But  her  only  answer  was 
an  indignant  "  Humph  !  wanted  money  I  suppose  ? 
It's  about  time  he  tried  his  wheedling  ways  on  you 
again.  But  I  told  you  I  would  not  allow  it,"  he 
added,  suddenly  growing  excited  and  very  red  to 
the  top  of  the  shining  bald  spot  on  his  head.  "  I 
will  forbid  him  the  house,  and  cut  off  your  allow- 


l8  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

ance  and  pay  every  bill  by  check  but  what  I  will 
put  a  stop  to  his  extortions." 

"  You  need  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  John,"  said 
Mrs.  Gray,  growing  red  in  turn.  "  He  never  asked 
for  money,  poor  boy,  and  I  have  given  him  very 
little  since  you  forbade  it,  though  he  was  so  pale 
and  thin  and  threadbare,  and  no  overcoat  this 
stormy  morning." 

"  That's  all  a  dodge,  I  tell  you.  It  is  not  a  fort- 
night since  I  paid  a  bill  for  him  at  the  tailor's.  He 
has  always  gone  on  as  if  he  were  a  boy,  ordering 
whatever  he  pleased,  and  I,  like  a  fool,  have  gone 
on  paying,  trying  to  keep  the  scamp  respectable  on 
the  outside  anyway.  He  spends  more  on  clothes 
in  a  year  than  I  do  in  three,  and  I  pay  for  them, 
and  he  pawns  and  sells  them,  and  so  gets  the  money 
out  of  me  to  gamble  with.  Then  he  comes  to  you 
threadbare." 

"  But,  John,  John,  don't  get  so  excited.  You 
know  he  has  a  family  to  support." 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  don't  believe  he  does 
it  at  all.  I  am  beginning  to  have  some  sympathy 
for  the  poor  woman.  I  hear  she  sews  for  Todd  & 
White's  clothing  store.  Now  he  has  always 
wheedled  money  enough  out  of  me  to  support 
them.  If  he  had  done  it  she  wouldn't  be  doing 
that  work." 

"  But  what  can  he  do  with  the  money,  John  ? " 

"  What  can  he  do  ? "  repeated  the  irascible  old 
man.  "  Are  women  all  idiots  ?  Spends  it  on  him- 
self, of  course.  I  tell  you  I  have  tried  that  fellow 
with  every  sort  of  a  chance,  and  he  won't  work,  and 
he  will  drink  ;  and  it's  no  use  to  talk  to  me,  madame. 


KATHARINE  GRAY  19 

I  never  mean  to  do  another  thing  more  for  him 
until  he  reforms." 

"  But,  John,  you  are  so  unreasonable.  I  do  not 
ask  you  to  do  anything  for  him.  He  did  not  ask 
you  or  me.  He  is  in  trouble,  and  he  is  your  own 
flesh  and  blood,"  and  her  handkerchief,  which  could 
be  very  effective  on  occasions,  went  pathetically  to 
her  eyes. 

"  Humph !  in  trouble ;  well,  out  with  it,  and  do 
not  cry,"  and  the  old  man  settled  back  in  the  chair 
to  the  edge  of  which  he  had  fidgeted  himself  in  his 
talk. 

"  I  know  he  has  his  faults,  John,"  she  gasped  be- 
tween her  sobs,  "  we  all  have ;  but,  John,  think  how 
unfortunately  he  married." 

"  Not  so  sure  about  that,"  he  answered,  gruffly. 
"  But  what's  the  trouble,  and  what  does  he  want  ?" 

"Wants  us  to  take  the  child.  Here,  read  this 
letter."  And  the  old  man  adjusted  his  spectacles  and 
read  the  letter  Robert  had  left  with  his  mother. 
"  You  see  she  means  to  forsake  him  and  the  child." 

"  Nonsense,  I  don't  believe  it.  It  is  neither 
natural  nor  probable.  Wouldn't  blame  her  if  she 
did  leave  him  though." 

"  But  the  child  ?  You  see  she  never  mentions 
taking  the  child." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  she  consents  to  let  us 
have  the  child  ? " 

"  Oh,  no  ;  Robert  says  she  would  starve  herself  to 
feed  it  first." 

"  That  doesn't  look  as  if  she  meant  to  forsake 
it."  Then,  as  if  a  sudden  thought  struck  him,  he 
asked,  "  How  did  Robert  get  this  letter  ?  " 


20  THE  TEMPTATION 

"  He  found  it  on  her  work-table." 

"  Did  she  know  it  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not ;  he  certainly  had  a  right  to 
take  and  keep  any  such  proof  of  her  intentions ; " 
but  she  paused  suddenly,  for  her  husband,  with  a 
glowering  frown,  deliberately  tore  the  letter  in  half, 
and  tossing  it  upon  the  fire,  adjusted  his  glasses  and 
took  up  the  evening  paper. 

Now  indeed  the  handkerchief  came  into  service, 
and  from  behind  its  folds  an  agitated  voice  gasped, 
"  I  don't  know  what  I  am  to  tell  Robert." 

"  Tell  him,  the  rascal !  " — and  Mr.  Gray  almost 
bounced  from  his  chair — "  that  I  like  a  man,  and  I 
hate  a  sneak,  and  I'll  take  that  child  any  day  when 
its  mother  consents  and  its  father  promises  to  keep 
away  from  her,  though  heaven  knows  I've  no  desire 
to  bring  up  or  even  ever  to  see  another  child.  But 
I'll  never  be  the  party  to  any  child-stealing,  and 
I'll  never  do  one  thing  for  the  support  of  the  father 
till  I  see  him  buckle  down  to  an  honest  day's  work," 
and  the  old  man  rose  and  marched  away  to  the 
smoking-room,  leaving  the  cambric  handkerchief  to 
waste  its  pathos  on  the  fire. 


CHAPTER  II 

OF  course  Robert  had  to  be  told,  and  in  the  course 
of  the  morrow  he  received  his  mother's  mes- 
sage, telling  him  of  the  destruction  of  the  letter 
and  of  the  unexpected  mood  of  severity  which  her 
appeal  had  aroused.  Still  she  did  not  wish  him  to 
despair,  nor  did  she  doubt  that  ultimately  his  father 
would  relent  if  Kate  should  consent  to  give  the 
child  up,  or  if  her  desertion  of  it  should  prove  that 
Robert's  fears  had  been  well  grounded. 

All  this  was  far  less  bearable  to  him  than  it  would 
have  been  if  the  letter  had  contained  a  banknote, 
which  it  would  surely  have  done  if  his  mother  had  had 
time  to  recover  fully  from  the  effect  of  her  husband's 
unaccustomed  wrath.  So  the  threadbare  coat  had 
been  wasted  on  the  old  lady,  and  the  only  satisfaction 
to  be  had  from  that  failure,  was  to  get  of  Katharine 
the  money  that  took  a  better  one  out  of  pawn.  This 
he  did  by  refusing  to  leave  the  house  again  so  thinly 
clad,  and  sitting  persistently  about,  teasing  the 
child  in  a  half-boyish,  half-brutal  fashion,  and  pour- 
ing an  incessant  stream  of  complaint  and  fault- 
finding upon  the  head  of  his  wife,  whom  he  chose 
to  hold  responsible  for  all  his  discomforts  and  woes. 
He  tried  to  make  her  talk  of  the  letter,  exasperating 
her  with  the  taunt  that  she  never  meant  to  go,  had 
not  the  courage  to  go,  and  that  it  would  be  the  best 
thing  that  could  happen  to  him  and  the  child  if  she 

21 


22  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

did  go.  The  varied  efforts  to  torment  her  were 
not  without  effect,  for  she  sent  him  for  his  coat, 
and  availed  herself  of  the  time  he  was  gone  to 
write  a  second  letter  to  her  sister,  which  she  took 
good  care  to  place  in  the  post-box  on  the  corner 
before  her  husband's  return. 

She  had  no  trouble  in  understanding  his  taunts, 
had  not  much  doubt  as  to  the  use  he  had  made  of 
her  letter,  and  knew  it  would  stand  to  his  parents 
as  another  indication  of  her  unworthiness ;  nor  had 
she  any  longer  doubt  as  to  his  purpose  to  force 
her,  by  every  abuse  and  neglect  to  the  very  step 
by  which  her  condemnation  and  his  own  condone- 
ment  were  to  be  secured. 

The  outrageous  injustice  of  the  whole  scheme, 
for  scheme  her  sore  mind  called  it,  in  which  mother- 
in-law  and  husband  were  leagued  to  drive  her  away, 
stung  her  proud  spirit.  She  meant  to  go  and  they 
could  have  back  their  precious  son  if  they  would ; 
but  her  child,  never,  while  hands  could  labor  and 
feet  could  crawl.  Her  spirit,  undisciplined  by  sor- 
row, burned  like  a  smouldering  volcano  in  the  bitter 
weeks  that  followed,  weeks  in  which  Robert  was 
at  his  worst.  She  gave  to  him  no  sign  of  any 
change  in  purpose  or  desire.  She  worked  day  and 
night  with  a  feverish  energy,  and  could  hardly  spare 
time  from  her  work  to  watch  her  baby  at  her  play ;  and 
when  some  mother  ministry  called  her  to  the  child, 
her  eyes  looked  hungrily  at  it  as  if  she  could  never 
gaze  enough,  and  she  seemed  trying  to  feed  her  heart 
with  the  little  one's  kisses  before  she  would  put  her 
away  from  her  arms. 

And  thus  three  weeks  went  by,  and  an  unusual 


KATHARINE   GRAY  23 

amount  of  work  waited  to  be  taken  home  to  Todd 
&  White,  wholesale  and  retail  dealers  in  clothing 
for  boys.  One  of  Katharine's  trials  was  the  going 
to  and  fro  with  her  heavy  parcels  of  work.  It  was 
not  alone  the  weight  of  the  bundle,  but  the  contact 
with  the  overdressed  and  fat  and  frowsy  fore- 
woman, a  creature  of  "frizzes  and  bangs,"  who 
made  her  feel  it  a  favor  that  she  was  given  the 
work  at  all,  and  constantly  reminded  her  that  it  was 
better  for  the  firm  to  have  it  done  in  its  own 
workrooms.  If  madame  was  in  haste  or  out  of 
humor  work  was  rejected  which  was  quite  satisfac- 
tory at  other  times ;  so  that  Katharine,  nervous  and 
overworked,  and  never  having  learned  not  to  "  talk 
back,"  always  dreaded  the  test  and  never  knew  what 
to  expect. 

But  this  trial  was  light  in  comparison  to  that  of 
leaving  her  child.  Robert  would  not  carry  the 
heavy  parcels  ;  but  if  asked  at  a  good-natured  mo- 
ment, would  sometimes  promise  to  keep  the  little 
one  from  falling  out  of  bed  or  crawling  into  the  fire. 
But  on  one  such  occasion  he  went  out  for  a  moment 
and  forgot  to  come  back.  On  another  he  went  to 
sleep,  and  Katharine  found  him  sitting  in  smoking 
clothing,  lighted  from  the  cigar  that  had  fallen  from 
his  hand.  So  she  feared  to  trust  her  treasure  to 
the  mercies  of  a  man  who  seemed  to  have  such  a 
tendency  to  make  a  whole  burnt-offering  of  him- 
self, and  sought  the  services  of  the  only  neighbor 
with  whom  she  had  anything  to  do.  This  was  a 
certain  "  Widow  Bridget  Burke,"  who  lived  on  the 
top  floor,  and  was  always  at  home  scrubbing  like 
the  round  roly-poly  washing-machine  into  which  she 


24  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

had  developed,  except  when  she  was  on  her  "bit  av 
a  roof  "  drying  the  garments  of  the  "gintlemen  and 
ladies  "  who  patronized  her  laundry,  which  laundry 
consisted  of  two  tubs  and  three  flat-irons  and  a  very 
refractory  cook-stove.  She  had  no  need  to  go  to 
and  fro  herself  with  what  she  called  "  ayther  durthy 
or  clane,"  for  her  boy  Ted,  whom  she  kept  scrubbed 
as  if  she  were  paid  a  large  price  for  it,  fetched  and 
carried  for  her,  as  he  would  have  done  for  Kath- 
arine also,  except  that  her  pride  would  not  subject 
her  brawny  little  neighbor  to  the  comments  of  the 
forewoman  while  her  work  was  under  inspection,  or 
run  the  risk  of  his  returning  with  a  rejected  gar- 
ment. 

But  once,  when  she  was  too  ill  to  go,  she  was  very 
glad  to  get  the  widow  herself  to  take  it,  though 
somewhat  startled  at  the  attire  in  which  she  ar- 
rayed herself  for  the  occasion.  The  VViddy  Biddy,  as 
her  irreverent  Teddy  sometimes  called  his  mother, 
had  donned  her  largest  cap  with  its  widest  ruffle,  out 
of  which  her  round  face  shone  like  a  full  moon.  She 
wore  a  short  yellow  gown,  starched  till  it  stood  out 
with  an  alarming  rotundity,  and  a  red  and  green 
plaid  shawl  crossed  under  her  arms  and  tied  in  a 
bouncing  knot  at  the  back. 

But  the  dear  old  soul's  spirit  was  as  radiant  as 
her  attire,  and  Mrs.  Gray  could  not  bear  to  shadow 
her  pleasure  by  any  of  her  own  misgivings.  Biddy 
returned  in  high  glee.  "  Dade  and  its  meself  that's 
goin'  ivery  toime  by  yer  lave,  ma'am  ;  but  it's  to  con- 
fission  I'll  have  to  be  goin'  behind  and  before,  and 
betwixt  and  betwane  ivery  toime  I  visits  rne  leddy 
at  the  shtore ;  for  its  lies  a  plinty  I've  towld  her 


KATHARINE   GRAY  25 

to-day  to  keep  me  sowl  in  purgathory  a  couple  o' 
wakes,  and  all  the  saints  won't  be  enough  to  git 
me  out  if  I  have  to  tell  her  as  many  agin." 

"  Lies  !     Why  Mrs.  Burke  ! " 

"  Widdy  Burke's  me  name  since  iver  me  Mike — 
that's  Teddy's  father,  me  dear,  God  rest  his  sowl— 
got  blowed  up  in  the  mine  and  come  down  dead. 
It's  Widdy's  me  name,  me  dear,"  and  she  crossed 
herself  devoutly  and  lifted  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"  But,  my  good  woman,  I  -  hope  you  did  not  have 
any  trouble  with  the  forewoman." 

"  Faith  and  I  did  thin,  a  plinty.  Afther  blar- 
neyin'  wid  the  clerks  till  I'd  find  out  the  shpot 
where  her  leddyship  was  waitin',  I  wint  wid  a  noice 
young  man  into  a  bit  av  a  cupboard  loike.  I  wint 
all  nice  and  quiet  and  sated  myself  aisy  on  the  sofa 
wid  the  noice  young  gintleman  guardin'  the  door  and 
shmiling  at  me  cap,  whin,  howly  saints  alive !  the 
cupboard  rose  up  on  its  feet,  and  up,  up  it  wint, 
thro'  the  air,  wid  the  boy  shmilin'  and  me  a 
scraachin'  at  the  top  o'  me  wind. 

" '  It's  all  right,  it's  an  illivator,'  says  he. 

"'But  I'll  illivate  meself  by  me  feet,'  says  I. 

"  '  All  right,  get  out,'  says  he. 

'"Shtop  yer  horses  thin,'  says  I.  And  thin  he 
went  aisy  loike  until  it  shtopped,  and  I  took  to  the 
shtairs,  and  whin  I  got  to  the  top,  I  was  that  red  in 
the  face  with  the  puffin'  that  no  wonder  her  leddyship 
said,  '  Was  I  a  peddler  ? ' 

" '  Indade  and  I  ain't,'  says  I,  'I'm  a  dacent 
widdy  and  me  husband  was  blowed  up  into  forty 
smithereens,  pace  to  his  ashes,  and  I've  brought 
home  your  clothes  made  by  a  sight  grander  leddy 


26  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

than  I've  set  eyes  on  here  this  day ' ;  and  I  gave 
the  fat  one  a  look  that  made  her  kinder  wither  up 
as  if  I  had  brought  her  an  invitation  to  attind  her 
own  wake,"  and  Biddy's  round  sides  shook  with  the 
recollection. 

"  But,  my  dear  woman,  how  could  you  talk  so  ? 
It  would  only  anger  Mrs.  Smith." 

"I  did  it  to  aise  my  moind  loike.  Isn't  it  I  that's 
seen  ye  whin  ye  come  back  from  there  so  pale  and 
wakelike,  and  lookin'  as  if  ye  hadn't  had  a  kind  word 
for  a  month  ?  And  as  soon  as  I  looked  at  the  cold 
round  eyes  of  the  crayther,  I  knew  she  was  ayqual 
to  the  batin'  of  ye  with  her  tongue,  and  I  gave  her 
no  blarney,  not  me,  ma'am." 

"  Did  she  find  fault  with  the  work  ? " 

"  Bade  and  she  did,  and  I  towld  her  ye  was  a 
leddy  born,  and  it  wasn't  right  to  expect  it  of  ye  to 
be  givin  yer  moind  to  it  as  we  would  of  the  loikes 
of  hersilf. 

"  And  thin  she  asked  '  What  was  I  to  you,'  and 
thin  the  divil  he  coom  over  me  shoulder  before  I 
could  make  the  sign,  and  I  towld  her  yez  was  an 
illigant  leddy,  and  I  was  proud  to  be  yer  sarvant, 
and  that  I  had  the  delight  of  working  for  yez  and 
nursin'  the  child,  and  my  son,  that's  named  Theo- 
dore— catch  me  callin'  him  plain  Ted — I  said,  '  was 
niver  so  proud  as  whin  he  was  a  waitin'  on  ye.'  " 

"  Oh,  Biddy,  Biddy,  how  dreadful !  What  can  I 
do  about  it  ?  " 

"  Now  be  aisy,  honey.  It's  not  your  shtory  at 
all,  at  all,  and  its  meself  will  shpake  a  word  to  the 
praste ;  and  indade  its  a  bit  thrue  after  all.  It's 
Ted  says  to  me  in  his  funnin',  '  Widdy  Biddy,  its 


KATHARINE   GRAY  27 

oursilves  ought  to  be  taking  care  of  the  lady  below, 
and  the  child  is  swater  than  hay.'  Once,  ye  see, 
Ted  wint  to  the  country  with  the  Frish  Air  Band, 
and  iver  since  he  says  ivery  swateness  is  '  swate  as 
the  hay.'  And  isn't  it  he  that's  a  watchin'  always 
to  git  a  wink  at  yer  child  ?  And  don't  you  lave  me 
to  mind  it  a  bit  onct  and  agin  whin  ye  go  out  ?  and 
ain't  it  me  scrubs  and  washes  for  ye  ?  Faith  its 
yer  Biddy  I  am,  and  niver  a  story  at  all." 

And  Katharine  had  to  let  it  go,  and  even  fancied 
afterward  that  Mrs.  Smith  was  kinder  to  her  for 
thinking  she  was  not  utterly  desolate  and  alone. 

After  such  an  exhibition  of  devotion  she  was 
quite  ready  to  ask  Mrs.  Burke  to  stay  with  the  child 
on  the  occasion  when  she  went  home  with  the  work, 
the  payment  for  which  would,  she  hoped,  make  up 
the  sum  that  would  be  needed  for  her  flight.  Biddy 
cheerfully  consented,  and  wrapped  as  warmly  as  her 
scanty  wardrobe  would  permit,  Katharine  went  forth 
to  face  the  cold  wind  blowing  from  the  lake,  and 
the  colder  human  throng  of  men  and  women,  hur- 
rying home  to  happy  firesides, — a  throng  in  which 
she  felt  herself  to  be  utterly  a  stranger  and  alone. 

Robert  had  been  gone  all  day.  She  did  not  know 
where ;  he  would  not  tell  her  if  she  asked,  and  she 
had  learned  not  to  ask.  She  knew  he  had  won  a 
little  money,  and  one  night's  luck  usually  meant  a 
three  days'  debauch.  If  he  was  in  the  midst  of 
one  to-day,  she  could  only  hope  it  would  last  until 
she  could  be  gone.  There  was  nothing  now  to  wait 
for  except  her  sister's  letter,  which  she  hoped  might 
come  to-night.  If  it  held  even  the  shadow  of  a 
welcome  she  would  turn  her  steps  at  once  and  for- 


28  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

ever  away  from  the  life  she  loathed.  As  she  walked 
along  with  bowed  head,  burdened  by  her  heavy  load, 
and  turned  the  corner  of  the  street  to  the  entrance 
used  by  the  employes  of  Todd  &  White,  she  caught 
sight  of  a  man  and  a  woman  emerging  together 
from  the  front  door  of  the  store.  It  needed  no 
second  glance  to  show  her  her  husband  and  his 
mother.  Robert  was  in  a  new  overcoat  and  gloves, 
evidently  the  result  of  their  visit,  while  her  own 
hands  were  bare  and  red  with  cold.  Her  first  im- 
pulse was  to  shrink  from  sight,  as  they  approached 
Mrs.  Gray's  carriage ;  but  all  the  old  spirit  of  re- 
bellious scorn  rose,  and  she  tightened  her  arms 
about  her  burden,  and  walked  resolutely  forward. 
At  the  door  of  the  stylish  coupe  they  met. 

"You  here?"  said  Robert,  with  an  added  oath 
under  his  breath,  as  he  tried  to  jostle  her  aside  that 
his  mother  might  not  see. 

"  Yes,  I  am  here,"  she  answered,  calmly.  "  Why 
not  ?  It  is  the  proper  place  for  mothers  to  come 
for  clothing  for  their  children  ;  I  am  here  that  my 
child  may  be  clad.  We  have  different  ways  of 
doing  it,  that  is  all.  I  see  your  mother's  is  an  easier 
way  than  mine,"  and  with  one  look  of  contempt 
that  swept  Robert's  attire  from  top  to  toe,  she 
entered  the  building  and  tottered  up  the  stairs, 
while  her  husband  with  a  muttered  curse  followed 
his  mother  into  the  coupe. 

"  How  dreadful !  How  painfully  mortifying  and 
uncomfortable!"  moaned  Mrs.  Gray,  with  a  shiver; 
"and  one  is  liable  to  have  such  a  shock  as  that 
any  day.  It  is,  really  it  is,  quite  too  much  for  my 
nerves." 


KATHARINE   GRAY  2q 

The  money  for  the  work  was  paid,  but  not  with- 
out much  irksome  delay.  It  was  late  when  she 
came  out ;  it  was  now  dark  ;  there  were  many  little 
purchases  to  be  made,  and  many  of  the  stores  were 
closed.  Hasten  as  she  would,  her  progress  was 
very  slow.  As  she  hurried  from  point  to  point, 
there  was  constantly  before  her  mind  the  picture  of 
her  husband,  comfortable,  well-clad,  petted,  looking 
at  her  with  a  threat  in  his  eyes,  cursing  her  under 
his  breath,  putting  forth  his  hand  because  he  was 
ashamed  to  have  his  mother  see  the  forlorn  creature 
his  wife  had  become.  If  this  was  the  last  time,  as 
she  hoped,  if  she  never  saw  him  again,  she  had 
gathered  fuel  enough  in  that  hour  to  keep  the  fire 
of  her  hatred  glowing  many  years. 

Then  the  picture  would  fade  for  a  moment  from 
her  mind,  and  in  its  stead  she  saw  the  dingy  room 
where  she  had  left  her  babe  before  the  scanty  fire, 
with  Mrs.  Burke's  round  face  shining  and  her  cap 
border  flying,  as  Gretta,  half  undressed,  lay  on  her 
lap  with  her  pink  toes  in  Biddy's  fat  hand,  while 
she  crooned  : 

"  This  little  pig  wint  to  market, 
And  this  one  shtopped  at  home, 
And  this  one  got  all  the  shupper, 
And  niver  a  bit  this  one." 

And  the  last  picture  gave  her  strength  to  go  on. 

Fearful  that  a  letter  might  come  from  her  sister 
in  her  absence  and  fall  into  Robert's  hands,  she  had 
ordered  her  mail  directed  to  the  post-office  instead  of 
to  the  house,  but  told  her  if  necessary  to  telegraph, 
to  send  in  care  of  Mrs.  Burke.  When  all  else  was 


30  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

done  there  was  barely  time  to  reach  the  post-office 
before  the  hour  of  closing.  A  trembling  hand  re- 
ceived the  letter  which  she  had  felt  sure  would 
come  to-night.  She  went  forth  hastily,  with  a 
strange  sense  of  having  found  a  hope  once  more ; 
but  it  was  not  until  she  reached  the  nearest  street 
lamp  that  she  looked  at  the  precious  missive,  and 
saw,  not  the  hand  of  the  long-estranged  sister,  but 
a  stronger,  strange  hand  which  she  had  never  seen 
before.  Hurriedly  she  broke  the  seal  and  read : 

MY  DEAR  MADAME  :  The  receipt  of  your  letter  has  given 
to  your  dying  sister  an  unexpected  hope  of  seeing  you  once 
more.  She  is,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  hopelessly  ill,  but  may 
linger  some  weeks  yet.  I  think  best,  as  her  physician,  to 
urge  you,  however,  to  lose  no  time  after  the  receipt  of  this, 
as  she,  a  widow  with  one  little  child,  has  much  to  say  to 
you,  and  many  matters,  which  now  she  has  found  you,  she 
is  willing  to  confide  to  no  other  care.  We  will  do  our  best 
to  keep  her  till  you  come  ;  but  her  anxiety  to  see  you  is  one 
fact  that  makes  her  lingering  doubtful.  Let  me  beg  you  to 
make  no  unnecessary  delay. 

Respectfully  yours, 

THOMAS  NEWMAN. 

Overwhelmed  with  this  new  trouble,  following  so 
sharply  upon  her  hope,  Katharine  staggered  for- 
ward, resolved  to  lose  no  time  in  starting  for  her 
sister's  Eastern  home.  It  was  very  late  when  she 
reached  her  lodgings,  and  she  was  not  surprised  to 
see  no  light  in  the  window,  for  Biddy's  economy 
would  make  her  sit  by  the  sleeping  child  in  the 
dark. 

Wearily  she  climbed  the  stairs,  and  pushed  open 
the  door,  which  stood  ajar.  The  silence  burdened 


KATHARINE  GRAY  31 

and  oppressed  her.  She  called  Mrs.  Burke ;  but 
Biddy  was  evidently  too  sound  asleep  to  heed.  She 
groped  for  the  candle,  and  lighting  it,  hurrried  to- 
ward the  bed.  It  was  tumbled  and  tossed,  as  the 
little  hands  and  feet  often  made  it ;  but  no  golden 
hair  bathed  the  pillow,  no  little  rosy  mouth  waited 
for  her  kiss.  Upon  the  bed  lay  a  satchel  in  which 
she  had  packed,  in  preparation  for  flight,  the  cloth- 
ing of  her  bairn.  It  was  quite  empty,  and  with  a 
cry  of  horror,  she  threw  herself  across  the  bed. 
Her  little  one  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  S  consciousness  returned,  after  the  deathly  swoon 
li.  into  which  the  sudden  knowledge  of  her  child's 
absence  had  thrown  her,  there  broke  upon  her  dim, 
bewildered  sense  of  loss  and  pain,  the  angry  voice 
of  Widow  Burke,  who  was  urging  her  panting  pon- 
derosity up  the  staircase,  puffing  and  scolding  with 
every  breath.  "  And  where  is  it  ye  are  thin,  ye 
dirthy,  desayvin'  craythur  ?  Give  me  two  hands  the 
ho  wit  er  ye,  and  I'll  dip  ye  into  me  washtub,  and 
wring  the  lies  out  of  ye,  and  hang  ye  up  to  drip, 
the  durthy  rag  that  ye  are  !"  and  she  burst  into  the 
room  to  behold  Katharine  sitting  on  the  bed,  clasp- 
ing her  head  with  both  hands,  and  gazing  at  her 
with  speechless  questioning.  At  sound  of  Biddy's 
voice  a  sudden  thought  of  hope  had  pierced  the 
dense  misery  that  seemed  paralyzing  her  power  to 
act  or  think.  Could  Biddy,  her  faithful  creature, 
have  yielded  to  the  temptation  of  the  corner  saloon 
and  taken  the  child  down  to  the  shop  or  up  to  her 
own  quarters  ? 

At  sight  of  her,  Biddy  had  stopped  short  in  her 
tirade  and  answered  at  once  to  Katharine's  half- 
whispered,  "  Where  is  my  child,  Biddy  ?  " 

"  The  child !  Indade,  and  haven't  ye  got  her 
there  behind  yer  own  back  in  the  bed  ?  " 

Katharine  threw  back  the  clothes. 

"  Biddy,  Biddy,  are  you  drunk  or  mad  ? " 
32 


KATHARINE   GRAY  33 

"  Naythur,"  broke  in  the  woman,  with  an  indig- 
nant toss  of  her  cap  border. 

"Then  where  is  my  child?  Do  you  not  see?" 
"  Gone  !  Gone  is  it  ?  Thin  it's  the  divil  has  got 
it,  ma'am,  and  it's  me,  the  big  blarneyin'  fool  of  a 
widdy  that  left  him  to  do  it.  But  how's  the  loikes  o' 
me  to  know  that  a  man  would  be  thaving  his  own 
flesh  and  blood  ?  Mighty  quare  koind  of  a  faythur, 
ma'am,  savin'  yer  prisence,  to  be  shtalin'  his  own 
baby.  Whist,  now,  me  darlint,  don't  ye  be  troubled. 
He's  but  taken  it  a  bit  'round  the  corner  to  the 
saloon.  There's  a  dale  of  fiddlin'  and  a  dancin' 
and  a  singin',  and  it's  but  to  give  her  a  bit  av  the 
world,  and  to  show  her  off  to  the  men  that's  got  no 
such  to  be  braggin'  aboot.  Rest  aisy,  ma'am,  it's 
meself  had  her  all  nate  and  snug  in  bed,  and  hushin' 
her  to  sleep  wid  singin'  a  nice  quietin'  little  story 
that  me  Ted's  fond  of— 

"  A  swate  little  story  'bout  Michael  McGlory, 
Who  wint  in  the  woods  and  murthered  a  tory, 
And  broke  his  pitcher  and  spilled  his  wather. 
And  married  his  wife  and  kissed  his  dauther. 

"And  Ted  was  always  for  askin'  me  whin  I  sung 
it,  if  it  was  the  tory's  dauther  that  Mike  was  mar- 
ried to,  and  niver  once  could  I  seem  to  make  it 
clear  in  me  own  head.  But  your  child,  ma'am,  she 
was  too  small  to  be  botherin'  me  wid  questions,  and 
joost  crowed  along  wid  me,  and  tried  to  say  it  her- 
self, till  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  her  and  me  swate 
little  twinklin'  mornin'  stars  a  singin'  together." 

"  Stop,  stop,  Biddy.  That  does  not  comfort  me. 
Where  is  my  child  ?  Did  you  see  her  father  ?  " 


34  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  And  isn't  it  that  I'm  tellin'  ye  all  the  time  ? 
When  she  was  aslape  I  was  joost  stirrin'  the  foire, 
thinkin'  I'd  run  and  git  ye  a  bit  of  a  chop  from 
above  in  me  rooms,  ma'am,  and  make  ye  a  pot  o'  tay 
and  a  bit  of  toast  whin  ye  come  in  from  the  dreary 
weather,  whin  in  walked  yer  husbancl.,  ma'am,  all  in 
a  flurry  like,  wid  a  plinty  of  nice  new^lothes  on  the 
wicked  bones  of  him,  beggin'  yen  pardon,  ma'am, 
and  he  said  to  me,  says  he,  '  There's  a  crowd  down 
at  the  crossing,  Mrs.  Burke,  where  the  train  runs 
over  the  strate,  and  a  boy's  run  over  and  hurt,  and 
as  near  as  I  could  find  out,  it's  your  Ted.'  And 
indade,  ma'am,  wid  me  husband  blown  into  smither- 
eens, ye  wouldn't  be  having  me  wait  to  make  the 
tay  and  mind  the  bairn.  Moreover,  he  told  me  to 
run,  and  me  wid  me  two  hundred  pounds  and  hardly 
breath  enough  to  tell  me  beads.  I  did  run.  And 
whin  I  got  there  I  see'd  no  crowd,  and  I  asked 
every  crayther that  passed,  and  one  said,  'Moist  likely 
'twas  Ted,'  and  another  said  '  It  wasn't  Ted  at  all,  at 
all,'  and  another  one  said  '  'Twas  his  legs  was  off,' 
and  another  that  'his  legs  was  all  right  for  he  saw 
him  walkin'  home,  but  he  hadn't  never  a  sign  of  a 
head  to  his  name.'  And  I  was  that  mad  at  this 
taising  a  poor  lone  widdy,  with  only  one  boy  and 
his  father  blowed  high  as  the  sky,  that  I  wint 
straight  to  a  policeman,  and  pointed  the  laughing 
blackguard  out.  But  he  said,  '  Niver  you  moind  ; 
I  suppose  he  thought  you  were  drunk  or  crazy.' 
And  no  wonder,  indade,  wid  me  cap  down  me  back 
and  me  bald  head  a  shinin'  and  the  wild  ways  of  me, 
scraachin'  for  me  boy.  Thin  he  towld  me  if  a  boy 
had  been  hurt  he  would  have  known  it,  for  the 


KATHARINE   GRAY  35 

crossin'  was  on  his  bate,  and  that  somebody  had 
been  foolin'  me.  And  thin  I  come  home  again  to 
find  the  craythur  who  did  it,  and  indade,  ma'am,  I'm 
ashamed  to  tell  yez,  but  I  was  that  overturned  whin 
I  saw  my  Ted  just  shtalin'  into  the  candy  shtore 
below,  that,  haythen  that  I  be,  I  took  him  by  the 
ear  and  walked  him  into  the  hallway,  and  took  him 
over  me  knee,  an3  sint  him  shmartin'  up  to  his  bed. 
To  think  o'  that,  ma'am,  a  batin'  me  own  boy  be- 
cause he  wasn't  killed  afther  all,  whin  I  gave  him 
the  money  myself,  and  told  him  he  could  have 
some  candy  with  me  own  lips,  bad  luck  to  'em. 
Ted's  a  heavenly  angel,  he  is,  and  his  ould  mother's 
a  baste." 

And  all  this  time,  heeding  only  enough  of  the 
old  creature's  tale  to  confirm  her  own  suspicions, 
the  poor  mother  sat  with  her  face  buried  in  her 
hands.  It  had  come.  He  had  proved  too  quick 
and  too  strong  for  her.  She  had  now  to  face  the 
fact  that  his  only  desire  and  purpose  was  to  rid  him- 
self of  her  once  for  all.  For  him,  hereafter,  luxury 
and  ease ;  for  her,  heaven  only  knew  what,  but 
surely  hardness  and  toil.  For  him  the  sight  of  his 
child's  face,  and  for  the  child  all  comforts  and  a  life 
in  which  she  would  grow  up  if  not  like  him  in  other 
things,  yet  like  him  in  despising  her  mother.  She 
had  no  doubt  that  the  baby  was  with  Robert's  mother 
now.  Should  she  leave  her  ?  Not  for  a  moment  did 
she  waver  on  that  point.  Not  for  a  moment,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  did  her  struggle  take  the  form  of  a 
question  as  to  what  might  ultimately  result  in  the 
greatest  good  to  her  little  one.  Not  for  a  moment 
did  her  heart  rise  in  prayer  for  guidance  or  help  in 


?6  THE   TEMPTATION  OF 

\J 

any  work  or  plan.  Willful  from  childhood,  finding 
the  religious  restraints  of  her  early  home  most  irk- 
some, outwardly  correct,  inwardly  wrong,  like  many 
another  soul  she  had  always  chosen  the  thing  she 
liked  to  do,  instead  of  the  thing  that  was  absolutely 
right.  Even  now,  she  could  not  see  in  her  suffering 
the  natural  result  of  her  own  choice  of  life.  She 
called  it  the  hard  luck  that  pursues  the  unfortunate. 
Life  had  said  no  to  her  ambitions  and  wishes,  but 
her  fierce  love  does  not  propose  to  be  denied  her 
child  or  her  fierce  hate  to  relinquish  her  purpose  to 
baffle  and  defeat  the  man  who  had  made  her  miser- 
able. And  the  love  and  the  hate  together  were 
strong  enough  to  bring  back  to  her  stunned  and  ex- 
hausted body  the  power  and  the  will  to  act. 

Slowly  she  began  to  move  about  the  room  like 
one  in  a  feverish  dream.  Nothing  was  disturbed  ex- 
cept the  child's  clothing.  What  could  he  have 
wanted  of  her  scanty  attire  if  he  had  taken  her  to 
his  mother's  house  ?  All  dainty  things  would  clothe 
her  little  limbs  if  she  lived  there.  Slowly  she 
gathered  up  the  cloak  that  had  fallen  from  her 
shoulders,  as  if  to  go  out.  Drawing  from  her 
pocket  the  money  just  paid  her  and  the  letter  writ- 
ten by  her  sister's  physician,  she  proceeded  to  place 
both  in  a  little  bag  which  contained  a  few  things  al- 
ready prepared  for  her  journey,  and  in  which  she 
had  been  careful  to  hide  all  the  money  she  had  from 
Robert's  sight.  But  he  had  found  trie  purse,  and 
when  she  opened  it  to  add  what  she  had  just 
received  to  her  little  hoard,  every  cent  of  it  was 
gone.  Burning  with  indignation  at  the  petty  mean- 
ness of  this  theft,  she  turned  to  go  out. 


KATHARINE  GRAY  37 

"  Indade,  ma'am,"  said  Biddy,  who  having  vented 
her  own  emotions  was  silenced  by  the  sight  of  this 
speechless  intensity  of  feeling,  "ye'll  not  be  going 
out  alone  the  night  ?  " 

"  I  must,  I  must,  I  cannot  wait  till  morning." 

"  But  ye'll  not  find  her  in  the  night,  ma'am." 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  know  where  she  is.  He  has 
taken  her  to  his  mother." 

"  Faith  thin,  but  her  own  lawful  granny  '11  be 
good  to  her  own  kith  and  kin.  Don't  go,  ma'am." 

"  I  must,"  answered  Katharine,  impatiently. 

"Then  ate  a  bit,  there's  a  dear ;  just  a  bit  o'  this 
toast  I've  been  a  nursin'  for  ye,  and  coaxing  it  not 
to  be  too  dry.  No  ?  Thin  it's  meself  is  too  weak, 
wid  all  me  worry,  and  the  loss  of  the  cherub,  and 
slappin'  me  angel  boy,  and  shrakin'  in  the  strates,  to 
let  it  be  wasted,  and  if  ye  don't  mind,  dear,  I'll  just 
take  it  up  to  me  Ted.  Wait  a  bit,  ma'am,  if  ye're 
goin'  I'm  goin'  wid  ye." 

But  Katharine  did  not  wait,  and  when  Biddy 
came  down  and  found  her  gone,  she  bustled  back 
again,  and  hustling  her  sleepy  son  into  his  clothes, 
told  him  in  emphatic  brogue  that  "  the  thafe  of 
a  fayther  had  been  shtalin  the  baby  below,"  rousing 
him  to  such  an  excitement  of  indignation  as  made 
him  double  his  fists  at  an  imaginary  antagonist, 
while  his  mother  struggled  with  the  button  in  his 
collar. 

"  Whist,  now,  sthand  still  wid  ye.  Ye  must  be 
decent  aven  in  the  dark.  Now  run  wid  all  your  legs, 
me  boy.  Ye'll  get  close  behind  her  before  she  gets 
to  the  cars,  and  if  she  takes  the  car  get  on  behind 
and  kape  in  hidin'  if  she  goes  into  a  house.  But  if 


38  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

she  comes  out  wid  the  baby,  ye  just  walks  up  and 
relaves  her  like  a  gintlemin  that  ye  are.  And  oh, 
Tiddy,  Tiddy,"  she  broke  out,  as  he  was  half  down 
the  first  flight  of  stairs,  "  don't  go  and  get  killed  no 
more  wid  the  crossin',  for  moind  ye,  ye'll  get  a  harder 
whoppin'  the  next  toime  if  ye  do."  And  yet  she 
followed  him  down  to  tidy  up  Katharine's  room, 
muttering,  "  Bad  luck  to  me  if  ever  I  puts  the  tip  of 
me  finger  on  him  again." 

Away  through  the  darkness  the  little  champion 
sped,  and  away  on  before  him  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  woman's  figure  hastening  forward  to  the  cars 
that  would  take  her  to  the  avenue  where  stood  the 
mansion  of  Mr.  Gray.  When  she  entered  the  car, 
Ted  jumped  on  behind,  and  if  his  little  honest 
heart  could  have  kept  quiet,  she  would  never  have 
found  him  out.  But  he  admired  her  so  and  loved 
the  baby  so  that  he  could  no  more  resist  flattening 
his  freckled  nose  against  the  glass  than  he  could 
have  resisted  the  buttered  toast  with  which  his 
mother  made  atonement  for  his  smart. 

Katharine  saw  and  beckoned  to  him  to  come  in, 
and  blushing  and  much  abashed,  he  took  the  seat  at 
her  side. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Theodore  ?  " 

"Wid  you,  ma'am." 

"With  me?    What  for?" 

"To  bring  the  child,  ma'am." 

"  But  I  may  not  find  her  to-night,  Teddy." 

"  No  matter,"  he  answered,  sturdily,  "  I'll  find 
her  for  you  some  other  day." 

"  You  ?     Do  you  like  the  little  one,  Ted  ?  " 

"  Dade  an  I  do,  ma'am." 


KATHARINE   GRAY  39 

"And  you  will  keep  on  looking  for  her,  will 
you  ? " 

"  Dade  an'  I  will,  ma'am." 

Near  Mr.  Gray's  house  they  alighted.  It  was 
eleven  o'clock,  but  the  lights  were  still  burning, 
both  in  the  upper  and  lower  floors.  Katharine 
glanced  upward.  In  which  of  those  luxurious 
rooms  was  her  child  lying  asleep  ?  Her  ring  was 
answered  by  an  old  servant  in  faultless  attire,  who 
had  seen  her  more  than  once  in  other  days.  He 
started  back  in  astonishment. 

"  Let  this  boy  wait  here  in  the  hall  for  me,  Jo- 
seph," she  said  as  calmly  as  she  would  have  done 
in  those  days  of  her  early  marriage,  when  she  went 
in  and  out  as  one  of  this  household,  "  and  show  me 
in  to  your  master." 

"  Mr.  Gray  is  in  New  York,  ma'am,  and  Mrs. 
Gray  has — I  think  she  has  retired.  She  went  to 
her  room  early,  and  begged  to  be  excused  to  any 
one  who  called." 

"  I  must  see  her  Joseph,"  and  she  entered  the 
library  and  seated  herself  before  the  fire.  "  Wait  a 
moment ;  say  to  Mrs.  Gray  that  I  will  not  detain 
her  long,  that  I  will  come  to  her  room  if  she  is  not 
able  to  come  down,  and  that  I  shall  be  here  early  in 
the  morning,  if  I  fail  to  see  her  to-night." 

The  message  given  left  the  woman  "with 
nerves  "  no  choice.  If  she  refused  to  see  her  now, 
she  would  come  again  and  again,  and  there  would 
be  talk  among  the  servants.  So  Joseph  went  back 
with  permission  to  conduct  the  lady  to  Mrs.  Gray. 

Bent  like  an  aged  woman,  she  dragged  herself  up 
the  stairs.  For  the  chance  of  a  home  like  this  she 


40  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

had  stifled  the  best  life  of  her  youth,  married  a  man 
of  whose  weakness  and  vices  she  was  not  ignorant ; 
and  she  had  done  it  not  from  pure  love  or  from  a 
purpose  to  uplift  and  save  him,  but  simply  to  be  the 
sharer  of  what  comfort  and  luxury  were  his.  She 
had  played  a  little  game  of  expediency  and  failed, 
and  felt  it  vaguely  as  she  went  on  to  meet  the 
woman  who  had  denied  her  the  place  a  son's  wife 
should  have  held.  And  the  thought  gave  an  added 
bitterness  to  the  voice  and  manner  with  which  she 
greeted  Mrs.  Gray,  who,  enveloped  in  a  soft  wrap- 
per, reclined  in  a  large  easy-chair  before  the  fire. 

"  I  have  come  for  my  child,  Mrs.  Gray,"  said 
Katharine,  hastily. 

"  Your  child.  And  why,  may  I  ask,  should  you 
come  to  me  for  her  ?  I  know  nothing  of  your  child. 
I  have  never  even  seen  it  yet." 

For  a  moment  the  room  swam  before  the 
mother's  eyes.  She  had  been  so  sure  her  child  was 
here.  "  Not  seen  her !  Then  what  can  he  have 
done  with  her  ?  He  told  me  you  would  take  her. 
He  tried  to  make  me  consent  to  give  her  up.  He 
took  her  away  to-night  after  I  met  you,  before  I 
reached  home." 

"  He  told  me  of"  your  plan  to  leave  him  and  the 
child,"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  coldly.  "  It  is  not  strange 
that  he  should  have  wished  to  provide  for  her,  but 
he  has  not  brought  her  here,  nor  do  I  know  where 
she  is,  or  of  his  intention  to  take  her  away." 

Too  much  startled  and  frightened  to  reply, 
Katharine  only  said,  "  I  was  not  going  to  leave  her. 
I  did  feel  that  I  could  not  stay  with  him,  but  I 
meant  to  take  the  child.  I  cannot  give  her  up. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  4! 

And,  oh,  Mrs.  Gray,"  she  burst  forth,  no  longer 
able  to  control  her  fears,  "  I  cannot  wait,  I  must  go 
on  and  look  for  her.  If  he  brings  her  to  you,  re- 
member I  must  have  her  again." 

Once  over  the  dread  of  the  meeting,  Mrs.  Gray 
would  have  gladly  prolonged  it,  and  have  tried  to 
bring  Katharine  to  see  what  would  be,  in  her  own 
eyes,  the  good  of  her  child  ;  but  the  strain  of  ex- 
citement and  anxiety  had  been  too  prolonged.  It 
was  true  that  Robert,  seeing  Katharine  on  the 
street,  and  knowing  that  she  must  be  some  time  in 
returning,  had,  after  leaving  his  mother,  secured  a 
cab  and  driven  hastily  to  the  house  of  a  former  nurse 
in  his  mother's  family.  He  told  her  his  wife  was 
going  East,  and  asked  her  if  she  would  receive  and 
care  for  the  child  till  her  return,  or  until  his  mother 
could  receive  her.  She  was  a  decent,  hard-working 
woman,  not  averse  to  such  a  task  for  the  very  liberal 
sum  offered.  And  he  had  taken  the  little  girl  at 
once  to  her,  trusting  to  his  mother's  tact  to  induce 
his  father  to  let  the  child  come  home,  as  he  believed 
he  would,  after  he  found  that  her  mother  had  really 
forsaken  her. 

But  not  even  the  fact  that  Robert's  mother  was 
evidently  innocent  in  this  affair,  could  induce 
Katharine  to  wait  or  to  talk.  She  hastened  forth 
just  in  time  to  secure  the  midnight  car,  and  Teddy, 
sitting  or  walking  beside  her,  found  himself  hushed 
into  unwonted  solemnity  by  the  set,  hard  look  upon 
her  pallid  face.  Only  once  she  spoke  to  him,  and 
then  as  they  climbed  the  stairs  she  said,  "  I  did  not 
find  her,  Theodore.  Remember  you  promised  to 
find  her  for  me  another  day." 


43  THE  TEMPTATION 

"  Iridade,  and  that's  what  I  be  going  to  try, 
ma'am,"  he  answered,  with  a  little  grab  at  his 
woolen  cap. 

Inside  the  door  the  "Widdy  Biddy"  met  her 
with  open  arms.  All  her  excitement  had  subsided, 
and  the  kind  motherly  heart  was  itself  again. 
"  And  so  ye  didn't  bring  her  to-night,  dear  ?  Well, 
it  would  have  been  a  pity  to  wake  her  out  of  the 
shlape.  Sure  and  all  the  saints  in  heavin  is  a 
watchin'  her,  ma'am.  Niver  you  doubt  o'  that. 
And  here's  a  yeller  letter  come  to  ye,  ma'am. 
I'm  sure  it's  to  tell  ye  the  child  is  aisy  and  safe." 

Katharine  took  the  telegram  in  her  trembling 
hand.  After  all  Robert  had  been  merciful,  and  had 
sent  her  a  word  of  hope.  She  opened  it  and  read  : 
"  You  must  not  lose  a  day  if  you  would  see  your 
sister  alive.  Take  the  earliest  possible  train." 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  the  haggard  creature  waiting  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  crowd  that  surrounded  the  ticket  office 
at  the  Michigan  Central  Station  in  Chicago  the 
next  morning,  one  would  hardly  have  recognized 
the  erect  figure  and  proud  defiant  face  of  Katharine 
Gray.  The  nervous  trembling  voice  in  which  she 
asked  for  her  ticket  to  Walden,  a  town  among  the 
Berkshire  Hills  in  the  old  Bay  State,  sounded 
strange,  even  to  herself. 

"  Can't  ticket  beyond  Springfield,  ma'am,"  and 
her  lips  had  parted  to  say  "  Springfield,  then," 
when  a  kind  voice  at  her  elbow  said,  "  Cost  you  no 
more  to  take  a  ticket  straight  through  to  Boston, 
madame.  Better  take  unlimited  ticket  to  Boston, 
and  stop  off  where  you  please." 

Ordinarily  she  would  have  weighed  any  such 
gratuitous  information,  and  stopped  to  consider  if 
she  had  any  need  to  go  to  Boston  ;  but  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  the  speaker,  an  old  man  with  a  closely 
shaven  face  and  gray  hair  combed  behind  his  ears, 
falling  in  straggling  locks  upon  his  velvet  collar 
of  ashen  gray.  A  broad-brimmed,  soft  gray  hat 
framed  a  face  at  once  so  gentle  and  so  strong,  that, 
without  knowing  why,  she  let  herself  be  guided  by 
it,  and  said,  "  To  Boston  then."  "  Twenty,  seventy- 
five,  and  pass  on,  please ;  do  not  keep  the  others 
waiting,"  and  gathering  change  and  ticket  in  her 

43 


44  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

trembling  hand,  she  turned  to  thank  her  informant, 
but  he  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He  saw  her,  how- 
ever, and  touched  by  her  evident  suffering,  was 
slowly  moving  behind  her,  keeping  his  eyes  upon 
her  in  the  crowd,  when  something  round  and  heavy 
came  bumping  against  his  traveling  bag,  and  his 
view  was  cut  off  by  Biddy's  full-moon  face  and  the 
flapping  frills  of  her  cap. 

"  The  saints  defind  yer  honor,"  said  she,  giving 
him  a  backward  glance  over  her  shoulder,  "  but  it's 
me  that  has  lost  me  leddy,  and  niver  a  bit  did 
I  remember  who  was  behind  me  when  I  got  a  look 
at  her  before,  so  white  and  spachless,  and  crying  all 
the  while  for  the  child.  It's  a  bit  of  breakfast  I've 
got  in  the  bucket  here.  It's  not  a  bite  or  a  sup 
that's  crossed  her  lips  since  ever  the  thaving  cray- 
ther  wint  off  with  the  baby,  makin'  no  mintion  of 
the  money  and  the  clothes."  By  this  time  they 
were  at  the  cars,  and,  pushed  along  by  those  behind, 
Katharine  had  entered  and  passed  from  sight.  The 
long-coated  old  gentleman  was  climbing  the  steps 
when  Biddy  was  stopped  at  the  gate  for  want  of  a 
ticket.  In  her  despair  she  called  out,  swinging  the 
little  tin  pail  under  the  very  nose  of  the.  guard: 
"  Shtop,  yer  honor,  you  wid  the  long  hair  and  long- 
tail  coat.  Its  one  o'  the  Lord's  dear  saints  ye  bez, 
sure,"  she  added  in  her  most  blarneying  tone,  as 
the  old  man  walked  slowly  back.  "  Indade,  ye 
nadn't  dishpute  it,  for  didn't  ye  shmile  whin  I 
bounded  inty  the  middle  of  yer  stomach  wid 
mesilf,  whin  any  mortal  sinner  would  a  shprinkled 
the  air  wid  bad  words.  Take  it  and  make  her  ate  it, 
for  she's  that  full  o'  the  trouble  that  she  hadn't  an 


KATHARINE   GRAY  45 

inch  lift  for  the  victuals,  and  she  do  be  needin  it 
sore.  Do  take  it.  And  long  life  to  yez  !  And  may 
ye  niver  die.  And  may  the  saints  give  ye  the  finest 
kind  of  a  wake ! " — and  before  he  could  ask  a 
question,  she  had  thrust  the  pail  in  his  hand,  the 
conductor  was  crying  "all  aboard,"  and  there  was 
just  time  for  him  to  scramble  on  as  the  train  de- 
parted, but  no  time  to  see  Biddy's  grateful  grimaces 
between  the  bars  of  the  gate,  or  to  see  Teddy,  who 
farther  down  the  station,  was  half-way  up  a  post, 
trying  to  get  a  last  glimpse  of  "  the  leddy,"  whose 
true  knight  the  loyal  little  Hibernian  had  become. 

Katharine  did  not  see  him,  but  his  mother  did,  as 
she  came  trundling  down  the  platform,  and  before 
he  saw  her  his  convenient  attitude  upon  the  post 
reminded  her  that  she  had  sent  him  in  quite  a  dif- 
ferent direction  for  a  basket  of  clothes.  Hurriedly 
wiping  her  eyes,  weeping  in  sympathy  for  Katha- 
rine, she  stooped,  removed  one  generous  slipper, 
and  lifted  it  for  an  attack  on  Teddy  in  the  rear. 
But  some  inner  consciousness  of  her  approach 
must  have  come  to  him  in  that  final  moment  of 
grace,  for  he  suddenly  slid  into  her  very  arms, 
and  twisting  himself  in  her  voluminous  gown,  he 
whirled  her  around  and  around,  dodging  her  in- 
effectual dives  at  him  with  the  slipper,  and  laugh- 
ing until  she  forgot  all  discipline,  and  her  round 
sides  shook  with  the  fun. 

"  'Way  wid  ye,"  she  said,  shaking  him  off  finally, 
and  restoring  the  slipper  to  her  broad  foot,  "and 
mind  if  I  foind  ye  goin'  wan  way  whin  I'm  sendin' 
ye  another,  ye'll  find  yerself  like  a  puddin',  with 
niver  a  bone  lift  in  yer  body." 


46  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  It's  to  shpake  to  the  leddy  I  came,  '  Widdy 
Biddy,'  "  he  answered,  keeping  himself  wisely  just 
beyond  the  reach  of  her  hand.  "  It's  to  ask  her 
will  I  bring  the  baby  to  her  whin  I  finds  it,  or  will 
I  lave  it  at  home  wid  yerself  ?" 

"  Well,  it's  me  that'll  be  tachin'  ye  what  to  do  wid 
the  choild,  me  man.  Lave  me  be  seem'  ye  foind 
her  furst." 

"  Dade  and  I  will,"  said  Teddy,  and  away  he 
went  on  his  errand,  while  his  mother  went  home  to 
her  tubs,  into  which  more  than  once  she  spattered 
a  rain  of  tears. 

As  for  Katharine,  she  felt  and  seemed  like  an 
aged  woman  as  she  sunk  wearily  into  the  seat.  She 
moved  as  near  to  the  window  as  possible,  drew  her 
veil  between  herself  and  her  fellow-passengers,  and 
gazed  out  upon  the  city  that  seemed  like  a  great 
grave  in  which  her  hopes  had  all  been  sunk  ;  and 
upon  the  prairies  where  the  greenness  of  the  grass 
had  changed  to  a  leaden  gray.  All  the  life  and 
glow  and  color  had  gone  out  of  the  fields,  as  it  had 
gone  out  of  her  life  that  was  as  fresh  and  full  of 
promise  as  the  springtime,  when  she  brought  it 
here  so  many  years  ago.  She  remembered  it  all, 
and,  seen  through  the  haze  of  to-day's  misery,  it 
seemed  only  a  fair  background  for  a  pictured 
tragedy  of  horror  and  pain.  She  wondered  at  her- 
self that  she  did  not  cry  out  and  startle  all  those 
comfortable  indifferent  people  near  her  out  of  their 
novels  and  their  lunches  and  their  careless  chat, 
and  send  them  shrieking  up  and  down  the  wide 
world  that  she  had  lost  her  only  child.  She  won- 
dered how  long  she  could  go  on  and  on,  drawn  by  the 


KATHARINE   GRAY  47 

restless  fascination  of  a  dying  face  on  its  far-away 
pillow,  and  yet  keep  so  still,  so  very  still.  As  soon 
as  it  was  dusk  she  found  herself  staring  at  every 
lighted  window,  as  they  flew  past  villages  and  towns, 
as  if  in  some  one  of  these  homes  she  might  get  a 
glimpse  of  the  little  face  that  she  knew  somewhere 
would  be  wet  with  tears  for  her,  as  soon  as  the 
night  came  down. 

Sadly  the  day  wore  on  to  the  poor  half-crazed 
woman,  whose  sowing  to  the  wind  had  been  so  care- 
lessly done,  and  so  in  accordance  with  the  world's 
ways  of  doing,  that,  seeing  her  anguish,  one  was 
tempted  to  forget  that  sowing  and  reaping  are  ever 
of  one  kind.  At  times  the  impulse  to  return  and  the 
regret  at  having  abandoned  even  for  a  few  days  the 
search  for  her  child,  was  so  strong  that  all  the  force  of 
her  will  was  required  to  keep  her  in  her  seat  when- 
ever the  train  stopped.  As  night  came  down  the 
conductor  asked  her  if  she  desired  a  sleeper.  She 
never  turned  her  face  from  the  window,  but  an- 
swered faintly  "  No."  Then  in  the  shadows  she 
heard  the  same  kind  voice  that  had  spoken  to  her 
in  the  station  saying,  just  at  her  side,  "  Doesn't 
thee  think  thee'd  better  take  the  sleeper  ?  The 
night  is  long,  and  thee  must  be  tired."  She  lifted 
her  eyes,  and  he  placed  the  little  tin  pail  in  her  lap. 
"This  must  be  for  thee,  I  think.  Thy  servant,  a 
little  round  woman  in  a  white  bonnet,  brought  it  to 
thee,  and  was  too  late  to  reach  thee  with  it  on  the 
train." 

"  My  servant !  I  have  no  servant,"  she  answered, 
in  surprise. 

"  It  was   thy  friend  then,   one    who    loved    and 


48  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

would  serve  thee,"  he  answered  gently.  "  I  will 
share  it  with  thee,  if  thee  lets  me  come  back  after 
I  have  told  the  conductor  to  save  thee  a  bed,"  and 
he  went  on,  leaving  her  no  alternative  but  to  see 
what  Biddy  had  brought.  He  was  a  very  wise  old 
man  evidently,  for  he  seemed  to  know  that  the  only 
way  to  make  her  take  food  was  to  make  her  for 
the  moment  his  hostess,  and  while  he  sat  beside 
her,  talking  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world,  she  forced  herself  to  swallow  the  food, 
lest  he  should  see  the  grief  that  made  it  hard.  And 
then  he  went  away,  and  the  conductor  came  and 
showed  her  a  berth  where  she  could  hide  her  misery 
away  in  the  dark,  and  weep  her  tears  with  no  fear 
that  any  one  would  see.  And  all  night  long,  amid  the 
rumble  of  the  cars  and  the  heavy  breathing  of  the 
sleepers  near,  she  lay  and  struggled  rebelliously 
against  her  life,  strengthening  her  hands  and  heart 
for  war.  She  would  hasten  to  see  her  sister,  and 
then  go  back  and  live  to  find  her  babe,  and  take 
her  so  far  away  that  no  such  cruel  thing  as  this 
could  ever  touch  her  life  again. 

Once  a  child  cried  in  a  compartment  at  the  other 
end  of  the  car.  She  sprang  up,  and  before  she 
knew  it,  was  half-way  down  the  aisle.  Then  she 
crept  back  again  as  if  caught  at  something  wrong, 
without  seeing  the  mild  blue  eyes  of  the  old  man, 
who  peered  at  her  from  behind  his  curtains,  and 
then  lay  back,  whispering  to  himself,  "  Poor  thing, 
poor  thing,  the  sorrow  of  the  world  has  overtaken 
her." 

In  the  morning  he  smiled  at  her  as  he  passed 
by,  but  did  not  come  near  until  they  reached  a  sta- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  49 

tion,  from  which  he  ordered  a  cup  of  coffee,  and 
telling  the  boy  to  wait  for  the  cup,  went  away  to  his 
own  breakfast.  Beginning  to  feel  that  she  was  in 
danger  of  arriving  ill  at  her  sister's  bedside,  Kath- 
arine took  it  and  ate  some  bread  from  Biddy's  offer- 
ing, and,  calmer  than  yesterday,  tried  to  control  her 
anxiety  and  to  think  only  of  the  time  when  she 
would  have  her  little  one  once  more  within  her 
arms. 

Once,  toward  night,  the  old  man  came  and  sat 
opposite  her  for  a  few  moments,  and  as  she  tried  to 
speak  cheerfully  of  the  country  through  which  they 
passed,  he  said  :  "  Thee  needn't  talk,  my  child. 
Thee  is  too  sorrowful  to  talk.  Thee  is  like  Rachel 
weeping  for  her  children.  Tell  me  when  the  Lord 
took  thine  away  from  thee  ? " 

"The  Lord  never  took  her,"  she  exclaimed,  with 
a  sudden  flashing  of  scorn.  "  It  was  the  devil's 
own  task.  The  Lord  had  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"Ah,  is  it  so?"  he  asked,  soothingly.  "Then, 
perhaps  if  we  ask  him  the  Lord  will  restore.  If  he 
was  not  in  the  taking,  he  will  be  in  the  giving  back. 
He  must  be  in  the  lives  of  all  little  children  some- 
where, I  think,  for  he  loves  them  so  dearly." 

Katharine  opened  her  eyes  wide,  her  astonish- 
ment for  the  moment  overcoming  her  grief.  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  ever  been  reminded  that  the 
child  had  any  one  but  herself  to  love  it.  The  in- 
stinct of  motherhood  had  claimed  it  for  herself  and 
herself  alone.  That  God  loved  the  child,  that  it 
was  his  to  care  for  and  watch  over,  was  as  foreign 
from  her  daily  thought  as  if  her  life  had  been  lived 
in  a  pagan  land.  Unconscious  of  this,  the  old  man 

D 


50  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

talked  on  gently,  and,  gradually  softened  more  by 
his  tone  and  manner  than  by  his  words,  she  would 
gladly  have  told  him  that  a  far  more  cruel  hand 
than  that  of  death  had  taken  her  baby  away.  But 
whenever  her  lips  opened  to  speak  the  words,  some 
sense  of  womanly  shame  and  caution  sent  them 
back,  and  she  unfolded  little  beyond  the  fact  that 
her  child  was  still  alive,  though  separated  from  her 
by  cruel  circumstances  that  made  its  restoration  a 
matter  of  serious  doubt. 

On  the  second  morning  of  their  journey  he  ap- 
proached her  again  as  they  were  nearing  Spring- 
field, and,  after  a  mild  attempt  to  induce  her  to 
trust  more  fully  in  his  kindness,  he  helped  her  from 
the  train  and  pointed  out  the  one  which  would  bear 
her  to  Greenfield,  from  which  point  she  would  go 
by  carriage  to  her  sister's  home.  As  he  left  her  he 
handed  a  card  to  her,  and  with  a  solemn  "  The  Lord 
bless  thee,"  returned  to  his  place  on  the  train  by 
which  they  had  come.  No  sooner  was  he  out  of 
sight  than  she  read  the  card,  which  said  :  "  The 
Community  of  Shakers  at  Loriston,  in  New  Hamp- 
shire, will  receive  any  orphan  child  or  children,  or 
any  tired  mother  who  may  choose  to  come  to  them 
for  comfort  and  rest.  Its  home  is  wide  and  open 
to  the  weary  and  to  the  little  ones  of  God.  They 
believe  His  words  who  said,  '  Whosoever  receiveth 
one  such  little  child  in  my  name,  receiveth  me.' ' 

With  soft  tears  quenching  the  fire  of  trouble  and 
anger  in  her  eyes,  the  weary  woman  gazed  upon  the 
hills,  familiar  and  yet  as  strange  in  their  outlines  rs 
though  all  memory  of  them  had  been  buried  under 
the  crowding  events  of  the  years. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  5! 

From  the  cars  she  passed  through  the  new  and 
rather  imposing  brick  station  that  had  taken  the 
place  of  the  little  wooden  building  where  her  father 
used  to  meet  her  with  the  low  carriage  and  brown 
pony  familiar  to  all  the  country  as  it  took  the  pas- 
tor on  his  visits  to  the  sick  and  the  aged  among  the 
distant  hills.  She  almost  found  herself  looking  for 
him,  though  she  knew  his  white  hair  had  been 
under  the  greensward  these  many  summers — pass- 
ing all  the  more  swiftly  and  sorrowfully  thither  be- 
cause of  her,  though  mercifully  she  did  not  remem- 
ber that.  The  brown  pony  was  gone,  but  there 
was  the  same  old  lumbering  open  coach,  with  old 
Job  Tuttle,  the  same  wheezing,  asthmatic  driver 
who  had  been  there  for  a  generation,  on  the  box. 
Into  this  wagon  the  tired  woman  climbed,  and  was 
soon  jolting  along  the  road  that  led  to  Walden,  the 
town  where  her  father  had  dwelt  as  pastor,  and 
where  her  sister's  husband  had  succeeded  him  in 
the  church  and  in  the  hearts  of  his  people. 

Old  Job,  whose  head  was  so  muffled  in  the  big 
woolen  scarf  that  he  called  a  "  comforter "  as  to 
leave  only  two  twinkling  eyes  visible  beneath  his 
ragged  soft  hat,  suddenly  turned  upon  Katharine 
with  a  nervous  little  nod.  "  Some  folks  tells  me 
where  they're  goin'  to  git  off  and  some  folks  leaves 
me  to  guess.  Neow  I'm  ruther  fair  at  guessin',  and 
me  and  my  off-horse  hit  it  poorty  near,  as  a  gineral 
thing.  Fact  is  he's  kinder  ketched  a  trick  of  guessin' 
from  me.  Folks  did  uster  say  when  I  was  young — 
I've  been  drivin'  this  ere  team  nigh  'beout  thirty  year 
come  Christmas — that  I  was  a  reg'lar  Yankee  for 
askin'  folks  questions,  and  deown  to  the  store  they 


52  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

said  I  jest  asked  folks  so  many  questions  that  I 
didn't  take  time  to  breathe  in  between,  and  so  that's 
the  way  my  breath  begun  to  give  eout  and  I  got 
the  asthma.  There  weren't  an  atom  o'  truth  in  't, 
not  an  atom,  fur  I  only  jest  took  an  int'rest,  and 
most  folks  is  glad  to  have  somebody  take  an  int'rest. 
But  anyway  I  got  kinder  riled  arter  one  spell  deown 
to  the  store,  and  I  jest  said  I'd  bet  my  yaller 
dog  agin  a  Thanksgivin'  goose  that  I'd  run  this 
coach  six  months  'thout  askin'  one  pesky  question. 
And  you  better  bet  I  got  thet  goose.  And  when  I 
got  it  I  told  my  wife  to  cook  an  extry  lot  of  onions 
with  it,  for  I  didn't  care  if  they  smelt  'em  from  the 
meetin'  house  to  the  store.  Fact  is,  I  aimed  every 
scrap  of  that  goose,  tail  feathers  and  all." 

Katharine  laughed,  in  spite  of  her  heavy  heart. 
"  It  could  not  have  been  easy,"  she  said,  as  he 
paused,  evidently  thinking  this  a  proper  point  for 
encouragement  or  applause. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  not.  Fact  is,  them  fellers  that 
made  the  bet  and  the  town  folks  gin'rally,  I  didn't 
need  to  ask  them  nothin',  fur  I  knew  where  they 
lived  ;  but  I  used  to  think  some  on  'em  actilly  writ 
their  relations  not  to  tell  me  where  to  take  'em 
when  they  come  to  town,  for  it  seemed  's  if  every 
aggravatin'  soul  on  'em  waited  for  me  to  ask.  Then 
I  tell  you  I  larned  what  ain't  deown  in  none  er  the 
appinted  school  books,  that  guessin'  is  the  highest 
kind  of  larnin'.  And  my  old  horse  larned  too,  for 
once  or  twice  what  d'ye  think  he  did  ?  He  jest 
took  a  squint  at  old  Deacon  Popdyke's  red  nose  as 
he  was  climbin'  in,  and  I  jest  let  the  reins  hang 
loose,  and  instid  of  takin'  the  deacon  home,  he  jest 


KATHARINE   GRAY  53 

turned  up  and  stopped  front  of  the  worst  drinkin'- 
place  in  town,  and  looked  round  with  a  real  kind  of  a 
wink  as  much  as  to  say,  '  This  is  the  place  for  the  dea- 
con.' Fust-class  total  abstinence  man  too,  won't 
raise  apples  cos'  apples  has  got  inside  of  'em  the 
iniquity  of  cider;  but  my  horse  wasn't  eddicated 
enough  to  know  a  whisky  nose  from  the  arrysip'lus 
nose,  and  I  dun  know's  I  was  to  blame  for  that. 

"  Nuther  time,  Squire  Putney's  widder,  she's 
ruther  strong  on  trimmins  and  real  fat  and  dressy, 
she  wouldn't  say  where  she's  goin'  and  I  wouldn't 
ask  her,  and  the  horse  took  her  like  a  streak  round 
the  corner  to  the  Old  Ladies'  Home.  My,  but 
didn't  we  ketch  it !  'Twa'n't  my  fault.  Fact  is, 
not  having  nothin'  to  say,  I  was  meditatin',  and 
while  I  meditated  the  horse  kinder  took  advantage. 
Then  the  horse  I  expect  must  ha'  told  it  to  the  yaller 
dog,  for  the  dog  watched  folks  mighty  close,  and 
whenever  I  was  in  danger  of  meditatin'  too  long 
would  dart  up  to  the  gates  and  bark,  and  wait,  wag- 
gin'  his  tail,  's  if  waggin'  would  win  the  bet. 

"  Neow  I  don't  see,  sence  the  goose  is  won  and 
eat,  and  plenty  of  onions  and  apple  sass  with  it, 
why  I  need  to  hold  my  tongue  still,  more  than  that 
yaller  dog  need  keep  his  tail  still.  Yet  if  you'd 
ruther  I'd  guess,  I'll  leave  you  at  the  parson's," 
said  he,  with  a  triumphant  crack  of  the  whip,  as  he 
drew  up  before  the  gate  of  the  old  home. 


CHAPTER  V 

'"PHE  gate  creaked  upon  its  hinges.  Her  own 
1  steps  sounded  unevenly  upon  the  gravel  walk, 
but  she  did  not  hear.  The  "yaller"  dog  lingered 
behind  after  Job  drove  away,  and  watched  her  as  if 
with  a  dumb  kind  of  comprehension  that  she  was  in 
trouble.  She  did  not  heed  him.  Her  hand  brushed 
aside  a  dead  vine  that  hung  dejectedly  from  the 
porch,  but  she  did  not  feel  its  touch. 

Here  at  last  was  the  rambling  old  house,  with  its 
broad  staircase,  on  the  landing  of  which  she  had  sat 
with  her  sister  in  long-ago  summer  afternoons,  pet- 
ting their  joint  family  of  infirm  rag  dolls.  The 
front  door  was  ajar.  She  entered  ;  a  light  gleamed 
from  a  room  at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Following 
its  gleam,  she  scarce  knew  why,  she  mounted  slowly, 
seeing  as  in  a  dream  the  little  sister  sitting  there  at 
the  top,  hugging  an  invalid  dolly  in  each  fat  arm. 
Instead  here  was  a  wide-open  door,  an  invalid  chair, 
a  wasted  figure  reclining  on  its  cushions,  a  white, 
wan,  waiting  face,  toward  which  she  tottered  and 
over  which  she  bent,  while  her  hot  tears  fell  like 
rain. 

"  So  many  years,  so  long,  so  long,"  whispered 
Eunice,  winding  her  arms  tight  around  Katharine 
as  she  knelt,  and  laying  her  head  upon  her  shoulder, 
"  and  now  you  have  only  come  in  time  to  see  me 
die." 

54 


KATHARINE   GRAY  55 

"  No,  no,  I  have  come  in  time  to  see  you  grow 
strong  and  well.  I  have  come  to  nurse  you  back  to 
health,"  but  her  sister  shook  her  head  and  smiled 
faintly. 

"  You  must  take  her  away,  Deborah,  and  take 
care  of  her,"  she  said  to  an  elderly  colored  woman, 
in  a  long  white  apron  with  a  gay  kerchief  twisted 
turban-like  about  her  head,  who  came  gently  in  from 
the  adjoining  room;  "my  only  sister,  my  precious 
sister  come  back  to  me  once  more,"  she  added, 
caressing  Katharine's  cheek,  as  if  she  could  not 
bear  to  let  her  go. 

Mechanically  she  followed  the  nurse,  and  stood 
almost  helpless  while  the  kind  Deborah  removed 
her  wraps  and  led  the  way  down  to  the  old-fash- 
ioned parlor,  where  she  left  her  alone.  Alone ! 
Here  was  her  father's  portrait,  taken  when  he  was  a 
young  man  with  a  book  in  his  hand  that  confined 
three  fingers  within  its  covers.  Katharine  re- 
membered often  wondering  what  book  that  was,  and 
what  passage  the  fingers  marked.  Here  were  the 
portraits  of  herself  and  her  sister,  painted  side  by 
side,  with  five-year  old  faces  and  very  short  frocks, 
and  very  long  white  pantalettes.  Here  the  book- 
case full  of  old  books,  and  another  full  of  newer 
books,  probably  belonging  to  her  sister's  husband. 
There  was  the  old  hair-cloth  sofa  on  which  they 
used  to  bounce  and  play  when  no  one  saw  them, 
and  the  wide  fireplace  where,  as  Deborah  said,  "  De 
fire  jes  done  tired  heself  out  spectin'  Miss  Katha- 
rine to  come." 

So  far  from  being  alone,  too  many  old  faces 
haunted  her,  too  many  long  dead  voices  sounded  in 


56  THE  TEMPTATION  OK 

her  ears.  In  her  overstrained  and  exhausted  con- 
dition she  stood  among  her  new  impressions  of  her 
dying  sister,  and  her  recollections  of  those  long 
gone,  helpless  and  unable  to  grapple  either  with 
memories  or  fears.  Debby's  return  with  a  tea  tray 
was  a  positive  relief.  "  There  now,  honey,"  she  said, 
placing  it  on  the  marble-topped  table,  "  I'se  boun' 
to  leave  yer  now  fur  to  git  Miss  Eunice  inter  bed. 
S'pose  you  know  the  old  house  same  as  me,  for  missis 
she  tell  me  heap  'bout  you'n  she  chillen  togedder. 
She  never  git  beat  out  talkin'  'bout  you,  and  I'se 
mighty  glad  you'se  come.  My  sakes  and  bones," 
she  added,  waxing  animated,  "  eber  since  Doctor 
Newman  said  you'se  comin'  pears  like  Miss  Eunice 
kep  a  breathin'  a  purpose  to  be  on  this  yarth  when 
you  come.  And  we's  prayed  de  Lord  to  hurry  up 
dem  kears,  and  sho'  nuff  here  you  is.  Now  don' 
you  go  to  be  lonesome  while  I'm  gone,  kase  I'm  jest 
up  top  dem  stairs  takin'  keer  of  missis,  and  jes  next 
chamber  dere's  the  baby  fast  asleep." 

Katharine  started.  "  The  baby,  whose  baby  ? " 
"  Yer  sister's,  honey,  and  Marse  Lawrence  Wild's ; 
jest  like  him  too.  She  is  got  de  fambly  nose. 
Reckon  I  know,  for  I  was  .his  mammy's  nurse  down 
in  Washington,  and  when  Lawrence  he  got  married 
way  up  Norf  his  mother,  my  old  missis — she  dead, 
poor  dear — she  sent  me  to  fotch  his  chillun  up. 
Lord  knows  I've  done  my  best ;  I  took  the  baby  in 
my  bed  right  soon,  and  keep  her  dar  eber  sence,  so 
Miss  Eunice  she  neber  get  done  out  her  sleep. 
Years  ago  I  used  to  nuss  Marse  Lawrence,  and  de 
aperrit  of  de  Lord'd  say,  '  Deborah  Dangley ' — 
dat's  my  Christian  name — dat  ar  chile  he  gwine 


KATHARINE   GRAY  57 

preach  de  gawspel  and  magnify  de  Lawd.'  And 
when  he  come  Norf  to  college,  and  old  missis  fret 
herself,  fear  de  debble  play  some  shines  on  him,  I 
say,  '  You  jes'  don't  fidget  Miss  Calline ;  de  good 
Lawd  he's  more'n  a  match  for  de  debble,  and  he 
don'  go  back  on  a  poor  colored  woman.  Now  don't 
you  go  upsettin'  de  plans  of  de  good  Lawd  by  on- 
believin',  cos  ye  can  hender  him  jest  as  if  he  was 
folks.'  And  sho'  nuff  she  did  hender,  a  worritin' 
and  worritin',  and  for  quite  a  spell  de  debble  did 
seem  to  be  gettin'  the  upper  hand.  But  I  wrastled 
and  wrastled,  and  bime  by  at  de  suminary  de  blessed 
Lawd  put  his  hand  on  Marse  Larry,  and  showed 
him  de  quick  road  into  the  kingdom.  And  he  got 
mighty  pious,  and  den  he  got  your  sister  for  to 
marry  him,  and  I  lived  to  see  him  pitch  into  de 
debble  like  all  possessed,  jest  in  that  same  old 
church  that  used  to  belong  to  your  pa.  But  mercy 
me,  I  declare  I  done  most  forgot  Miss  Eunice. 
You  g'long  right  in  to  the  south  room  and  see  the 
baby  if  ye  git  lonesome  fo'  I  gits  missis  ready  for 
to  have  you  set  by  her." 

Hardly  had  the  shuffling  old  feet  ceased  to  sound 
upon  the  stairs  when  the  tray  was  pushed  hastily 
aside,  and  with  light  footfall  Kate  made  her  way  to 
the  old  south  room,  It  was  the  one  sunny  room, 
the  "sitting  room,"  dearer  far  in  the  olden  time 
than  the  stiff  parlor  sacred  to  week-day  company,  to 
Sunday  prayers,  and  occasional  wedding  ceremonies, 
when  bride  and  groom,  mutually  nervous  and  miser- 
able, stood  before  the  corner  whatnot  under  the 
hair  flower-piece,  and  were  joined  in  holy  matri- 
mony. At  these  weddings  her  mother  occupied  the 


58  THK  TEMPTATION   OF 

middle  of  the  hair-cloth  sofa,  with  a  little  girl  on 
either  side  of  her,  brought  in  more  to  keep  them 
out  of  mischief  than  to  add  to  the  impressiveness  of 
the  occasion.  Katharine  remembered  a  day  when 
a  raid  was  made  upon  the  glass  jar  of  company 
ginger-snaps  during  one  of  these  weddings  to  which 
she  had  not  been  invited  for  lack  of  time  to  comb 
her  locks  and  put  on  a  fresh  white  apron.  With 
hands  and  face  well  smeared  with  the  sweet  and 
sticky  compound,  she  had  rushed  in  upon  the 
moment  of  prayer,  causing  the  young  bride  to  gig- 
gle convulsively  and  the  groom's  efforts  at  self- 
control  to  end  in  a  wild  snort  of  laughter,  and  her 
reverend  father  to  lift  his  prayer-shut  lids  and 
regard  her  with  a  mild  and  helpless  horror.  As  viv- 
idly as  if  they  were  of  yesterday,  scene  after  scene 
swept  before  her,  and  the  haunting  faces  followed 
her  into  the  old  south  room. 

The  house  had  never  boasted  a  pastor's  study, 
but  the  old  mahogany  desk  in  the  corner,  where 
the  sunlight  used  to  fall  upon  the  shiny  bald  place 
on  his  head,  was  her  father's  favorite  spot.  Here 
the  sermons  were  written,  and  here  the  children,  if 
not  allowed  to  run  and  play,  might  have  a  story- 
book in  the  window  seat,  even  when  father  was  at 
his  work.  Here  too,  in  the  low  rocker,  the  mother 
sat,  with  her  basket  of  mending,  because  father 
fancied  he  worked  better  if  she  was  near  ;  and  here, 
when  the  work  was  done,  was  the  round  table  and 
the  evening  lamp,  and  the  place  that,  more  than 
any  other,  was  the  home. 

And  after  all  the  years  it  was  not  much  changed. 
There  was  the  old  desk,  the  faded  carpet,  the  wide 


KATHARINE   GRAY  59 

lounge  where  the  father  used  to  lie  while  mother 
read  the  church  paper  aloud.  There  too,  in  the 
dim  shadows,  though  no  one  but  Katherine  could 
have  seen  them,  were  the  sweet  mother  face  and 
the  father's  white  head,  bent  ov^er  its  accustomed 
task,  yet  neither  lifting  for  a  moment  with  a  smile 
of  welcome  for  this  wandering  and  prodigal  child. 
Why  not  ?  Why  not  ?  she  asked  herself,  as  her 
overstrained  nerves  shrank  from  the  loneliness  and 
silence.  And  then  suddenly  it  all  came  clear 
to  her.  For  these,  her  dear  old  parents,  her 
return  and  her  sorrow  that  she  had  ever  left 
them  had  come  too  late.  Indeed,  as  she  stood 
there  in  the  solemn  stillness  and  gloom  of  this 
truly  haunted  home-room,  there  came  a  little  faint 
gleam  of  the  truth — that  her  impatient  regret 
at  the  outcome  of  her  folly  had  not  one  touch  of 
real  repentance  for  the  sore  grief  of  these  two 
hearts  that  had  loved  her  and  longed  for  her  return. 
For  one  moment  she  saw  that  they  were  not  more 
uncomplaining,  now  that  the  grave-sod  lay  over 
them,  than  they  had  been  when  only  the  mantle  of 
daily  duty  and  patient  toil  helped  them  to  hide 
their  pain.  For  one  swift  moment  too,  there  came 
a  memory  of  the  One  Great  Heart  of  Love,  of 
whom  they  had  taught  her,  and  who  would  have 
kept  her  had  she  not  chosen  for  herself  the  way 
that  was  not  his  way,  but  her  own.  For  a  moment 
"the  Light  that  hghteth  every  man  "  shone  in  upon 
her,  and  with  a  new  sense  of  justice  she  lifted  the 
blame  from  "  fate  and  luck  "  and  God's  neglect,  and 
let  it  rest  where  it  belonged,  upon  her  own  self- 
seeking  and  willfulness  and  lack  of  filial  love.  For 


60  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

a  moment  there  bent  near  her  the  white  wings  of 
the  angel  of  penitence;  but  there  came  a  little 
rustle  and  stir  in  the  gloom,  a  fluttering  movement 
on  the  pillows  of  the  wide  couch,  a  little  quivering 
drowsy  cry,  and  all  the  fierce  mother-love  stirred  in 
her  to  a  tempest  of  passionate  longing.  Here  was 
this  child,  this  little  girl,  as  young  as  her  own,  and 
as  fair  and  sweet,  lying  here  with  moist,  sunny 
curls  and  sweet  mouth  smiling  in  dreams.  She  was 
safe,  sheltered,  her  soft  limbs  daintily  clad,  while 
her  child,  with  face  as  fair,  with  little  restless  baby 
hands  that  reached  up  even  as  these  to  find  the 
mother's  face,  her  child  was — God  only  knew 
where  !  And  yet  God  had  seen  who  took  her,  God 
had  known  all  about  it,  and  had  let  that  awful 
thing  be  done. 

Then  as  if  her  passion  of  resentment  at  the 
cruelty  of  it  all  yielded  to  her  heart-hunger  for  her 
own,  she  bent  yearningly  over  the  sleeping  child, 
and  hot  tears  rained  upon  its  face.  The  baby 
stirred  restlessly,  and  as  if  trying  to  cheat  her  own 
heart,  she  gathered  it  in  her  arms,  and  pacing  swiftly 
up  and  down  the  floor,  hushed  it  with  tender  touch 
and  tones  that  were  more  sobs  than  words. 

There  Debby,  entering  silently,  found  her  and 
heard  the  murmured  broken  utterance  in  which  she 
crooned,  "  My  baby,  my  own  poor,  lost  little  baby  ! 
Mamma's  little,  white  lost  lamb  !  "  and  with  instinct- 
ive delicacy  she  stole  back  again  to  the  invalid's 
room  where,  propped  upon  the  pillows,  she  was 
waiting  for  her  sister  to  come  in. 

"  Where  is  Kate  ?  "  she  asked,  feebly.  "  I  must 
talk  to  her  to-night." 


KATHARINE  GRAY  6l 

"Wait  till  mornin',  honey,  fo'  de  Lawd,  I  do 
bleeve  she's  done  beat  out.  Every  bite  dat  nice 
chicken  waitin'  dar  on  tray  ;  every  drop  dat  tea-pot 
fresh  tea.  Eat  nuffin,  drink  nuffin,  jest  take  on  and 
take  on." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Debby,  where  is  she  ?  " 

"Mean  she  just  done  up  over  our  baby,  po' 
chile.  She's  got  dead  baby  her  own  in  de  grabe- 
yard  some  place,  sure.  She  jest  lovin'  and  snugglin' 
our  baby,  and  cryin'  bout  her  lost  baby.  You  wait 
till  mornin',  honey,  and  I'll  go  and  take  our  baby, 
and  make  your  poor  tired  sis  eat  suffin,  and  get  her 
to  bed  ;  "  but  before  she  could  carry  out  her  kind 
intention,  Katharine  came  in  with  the  little  one  in 
her  arms. 

"  Here,  Debby,  you  must  get  her  to  sleep  again," 
she  said  quietly,  placing  the  child  on  the  nurse's 
lap,  and  turning  to  Eunice,  whose  eyes  were  fixed 
in  tender  solicitude  upon  her  own  white  face. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  little  daughter,  sister,"  she  said, 
as  Debby  carried  her  from  the  room.  "  She  will  be 
such  a  joy  to  you  as  you  grow  old." 

"  Not  that,  Katharine.  I  shall  never  grow  old  ; 
but  she  has  been  a  joy  to  me  every  hour  of  her 
little  life.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  her,  about  "- 
her  lips  quivered — "  about  the  days  when  I  am  gone, 
but  Debby  tells  me  you  are  quite  worn  out.  I  see  it 
too,  and  must  not  be  selfish.  Yet  it  is  so  good  to  get 
you,  so  good  to  have  one's  own  to  talk  to.  We  will 
leave  it  all  till  to-morrow,  all,"  she  added,  seizing 
her  sister's  hand,  "  except  this ;  Debby  tells  me  she 
heard  you  sobbing  over  my  little  one.  Tell  me, 
sister,  have  you  lost  a  child  of  your  own  ? " 


62  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

Katharine's  head  dropped  upon  her  breast.  The 
white  lips  moved  as  if  she  would  speak,  but  no 
words  came. 

"  I  see,  poor  dear,  poor  dear,"  said  Eunice,  strok- 
ing her  sister's  hand  gently.  "  It  must  have  been 
so  hard,  darling,  but  though  I  am  so  sorry  for  the 
loss,  I  can  hardly  help  being  glad  you  have  known 
what  it  is  to  be  a  mother ;  and  I  want  you  to  prom- 
ise me  you  will  take  my  little  one  and  bring  her 
up  for  me  as  if  she  were  your  own.  You  needn't 
say  one  word,"  she  added,  as  Katharine  seemed 
making  an  effort  to  speak,  "  not  a  word.  Kiss  me, 
and  I  shall  know  you  will  love  her.  You  will  not 
need  to  work  and  struggle  for  her  Katharine.  There 
is  enough  and  more  than  enough  coming  from  her 
father's  family.  Our  dear  father  did  not  know 
where  you  were,"  she  added,  "  and  he  left  all  the  little 
he  had  saved,  and  all  that  came  from  mamma,  not 
to  me — I  think  he  remembered  you  and  could  not 
bear  to  leave  you  out,"  she  said,  as  she  saw  the 
swift  look  of  pain  cross  Katharine's  face — "  but  to 
me  in  trust  for  my  children.  It  will  come  as  a  trust 
to  you,  Kate,  and  indeed,"  she  added,  eagerly,  "  I 
wish  he  had  left  it  to  you  or  to  me  outright ;  for  if 
it  had  come  to  me,  I  would  have  willed  it  to  you, 
for  I  know  that  you  would  do  all  for  my  child  that 
1  would  do  for  yours.  Or  I  would  care  for  you  out 
of  my  husband's  property ;  but  that,  alas,  did  not 
come  to  us  until  after  my  Larry's  death  and  so  went 
directly  to  his  child,  and  not  to  me.  It  all  seems  un- 
just and  wrong,  Kate,"  she  added,  as  the  white  face 
dropped  lower  and  lower,  until  it  was  hidden  from 
sight  in  the  pillow,  "but  I  do  not  know  how  to 


KATHARINE   GRAY  63 

make  it  right.  Perhaps  we  can  find  a  way  together. 
Of  course,  the  estate  must  care  for  you  if  you  care 
for  my  child,  and  her  home  must  be  your  home 
also. 

"  But  all  this  is  not  what  is  most  important  to 
me,  Kate.  Let  me  tell  you  what  is."  Her  voice 
dropped  to  feebleness,  but  her  hands  never  ceased 
to  pass  caressingly  over  the  bowed  head.  "  You 
know  the  faith  in  which  we  were  reared,  dear  ?  It 
was  my  husband's  faith  also,  and,"  she  added  gently, 
"  the  faith  of  our  father  and  mother.  Though  you 
went  away  from  us,  Katie,  I  never  believed  that  the 
vows  taken  at  my  side  when  we  were  young  girls 
together  could  be  less  to  you  than  to  me.  To  me 
the  Christian  life  has  grown  more  real  and  more 
vital  every  year.  The  Christian  principles  seem 
more  and  more  to  me  to  be  the  only  safe  and  sure 
principles  on  which  to  build  a  character  that  will 
stand  the  test  of  life.  I  know  you  feel  as  I  do,  and 
I  want  you  to  promise  me  to  take  my  child,  my  one 
great  gift,  and  to  rear  her  in  the  faith  her  mother 
loved  and  tried  to  live." 

She  paused  suddenly.  The  thin  white  fingers 
found  their  way  to  Katharine's  face,  hiding  its 
pain  and  envy  and  shame  from  the  eyes  that  were 
gazing  already  into  the  life  where  the  hidden  things 
shall  be  revealed.  Slowly  the  white  face  lifted. 
Behind  it  the  soul,  of  which  it  was  Ihe  mask,  was  say- 
ing, "All  that  was  left  by  both  her  father  and  mine 
to  go  to  this  child  ;  for  my  child  nothing.  For  this 
mother,  heaven  and  love  and  joy ;  for  me,  poverty, 
pain,  cursing,  and  toil.  For  them,  faith  of  soul, 
peace  of  mind,  love  of  each  other ;  for  me,  desola- 


64  THE  TEMPTATION 

tion,  bitterness,  strife."  And  yet  the  lips  did  not 
utter  a  word  of  it  all,  and  the  sad  eyes,  dim  with 
weariness  and  sorrow,  gave  no  sign  of  rebellion  or 
envy  or  scorn.  And  the  gentle  face  on  the  pillow 
lifted  itself  feebly  toward  her  own,  and  the  spent 
voice  whispered,  "  Kiss  me,  sister,  and  I  shall  know 
you  promise  all."  One  long,  slow  shudder  of  the 
soul  shook  her  body  like  a  wind-swept  leaf,  and  yet 
she  laid  upon  those  waiting  lips  the  kiss — that  was 
a  vow. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  LONE  at  last,  with  the  door  closed  against 
I\.  Debby,  whose  kind  heart  could  not  refrain 
from  urging  her  to  eat  and  sleep,  she  passed  such 
a  night  as  added  new  and  deep  lines  to  her  haggard 
face,  and  made  her  feel  as  if  years  had  been  added 
to  her  life. 

It  was  the  same  room  she  had  shared  with  her 
sister  all  through  her  happy  childhood.  All  night 
she  tossed  and  turned  upon  the  same  bed  whose 
bright  pink  hangings,  now  faded  to  a  dingy  white, 
had  shaded  her  sleeping  face  before  the  rosy  fresh- 
ness of  its  beauty  had  taken  one  trace  of  care.  She 
was  alone  at  last,  and  yet  she  was  not  alone.  Close 
her  eyes  as  she  would,  she  yet  could  not  escape  the 
haunting  eyes  that  pleaded  and  questioned,  and 
would  not  be  turned  away.  In  them  she  saw  the 
reflection  of  her  own  thought.  They  asked  her  of 
herself,  of  her  innermost  purpose  and"  principle  and 
motive ;  they  looked  as  if  they  doubted  her  truth, 
and  yet  it  was  her  own  soul  that  had  not  faith  in 
itself.  They  asked  her  of  her  child,  where  was  it  ? 
how  should  she  find  it  ?  what  would  she  do  with  it 
and  for  it  ?  what  share  could  it  have  in  the  life  of 
this  other  child  ?  And  she  shivered  and  shrank 
from  these  questions,  even  though  she  knew  they 
were  but  the  echo  of  her  own  heart,  asking  itself 
over  and  over  again  how  it  could  compass  its  will. 

E  65 


66  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

Most  of  all  she  felt  that  the  eyes  questioned  her 
of  her  faith,  and  forced  her  to  answer  that  she  had 
no  faith.  In  vain  she  pleaded  angrily  that  it  did 
not  matter  whether  she  had  or  not ;  that  some  of 
the  noblest  souls  and  truest  helpers  of  humanity 
had  had  no  faith  ;  that  justice  and  truth  were  what 
the  world  needed,  not  dogmas,  not  personal  allegiance 
to  myths,  however  fair.  And  while  she  muttered 
this  in  her  feverish  tossing,  still  the  fading  eyes 
clung  to  hers,  and  still  they  questioned  if  she,  lack- 
ing faith,  had  justice  and  mercy  and  truth  to  teach 
this  little  child  ?  If  she  had  lost  their  mother's 
faith,  had  she  their  mother's  heart  of  tender  love  ? 
And  then  the  haunting  eyes  grew  troubled  with  a 
trouble  she  could  but  feel.  They  had  reached  her 
heart  at  last,  for  they  burned  with  an  anguish  that 
her  own  had  known.  Out  of  them  passed  all  at 
once  the  sweetness  and  the  trust.  They  were  wild 
with  the  same  anguish  she  had  felt  herself  when 
she  had  thought  of  separation  from  her  child.  Ah  ! 
this  was  a  pain  from  which  she  could  not  turn 
away.  With  a  shudder  that  shook  her  like  a  leaf, 
she  turned  her  face  in  the  pillow  and  sobbed,  "  It 
shall  be  as  you  wish.  Your  child  shall  be  safe. 
I  will  make  true  the  promise  of  that  kiss.  I  will 
teach  your  child  to  be  like  you  and  like  our  mother, 
and  I  will  learn  to  be  like  you  myself."  And  with 
the  coming  of  the  inward  impulse  to  open  her  heart 
fully  to  her  sister  in  the  morning,  it  was  as  if 
swiftly  the  accusing  presence  departed,  and  another 
— radiant,  peaceful,  strong — stood  suddenly  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  conflict ;  and,  like  a  worn-out,  over- 
wearied child,  she  sobbed  herself  to  sleep. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  67 

And  while  this  battle  between  the  life-hardened 
woman  and  the  tender  mother  went  on  in  that 
upper  chamber,  the  Angel  of  His  Presence  had 
come  gently,  silently  to  that  lower  room  where  one 
lay  sleeping,  and  on  the  lips  where  lay  the  kiss  that 
was  a  sacred  vow,  and  on  the  close-shut  eyes  had 
placed  the  seal  of  silence  that  would  never  be 
broken  to  answer  even  a  penitent  heart's  confes- 
sion, or  a  motherless  infant's  cry. 

Debby,  faithful  and  loving  watcher  as  she  was, 
was  not  young  any  longer,  and  her  old  bones 
wearied  under  the  duties  of  nurse  for  both  invalid 
mother  and  infant  child.  She  was  unusually  weary 
to-night,  and  fell  asleep  on  her  couch,  drawn  close 
to  the  bedside  of  her  mistress.  The  silent  mes- 
senger did  not  waken  her,  nor  did  Debby  waken 
Katharine  when,  in  the  early  dawn,  she  found  the 
Angel  of  God  had  come  and  gone,  and  that  a 
sweet  young  life  had  escaped  at  last  from  its  long 
imprisonment  of  pain.  And  Katharine,  overcome 
by  fatigue,  slept  heavily  and  long,  taking  gratefully 
the  fragrant  coffee  and  toast  from  the  tray  which 
Debby  placed  noiselessly  beside  her  bed,  departing 
without  a  word.  Refreshed  and  strengthened,  re- 
membering much  of  the  night  as  a  troubled  dream, 
she  went  down  to  her  sister's  room.  She  found 
the  morning  sunlight  stealing  in  through  half-shut 
blinds,  the  white  bed  empty,  the  invalid's  table 
with  all  its  medicines  and  signs  of  illness  gone, 
fresh  flowers  from  the  garden  on  mantle  and  win- 
dow-seat, and  the  door  wide  open  into  the  dear 
south  room,  where  on  the  wide  old  couch,  in  a  soft 
wrapper  of  white,  as  if  she  had  just  thrown  herself 


68  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

down  to  rest,  lay  her  sister,  the  face  so  young,  so 
sweet,  so  unmarked  of  pain,  that  her  heart  at  first 
gave  a  great  bound  of  hope.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
been  healed  and  given  back  in  a  night  her  birth- 
right of  youth  and  joy. 

"  I'se  sure  the  baby  will  'member  her,"  said 
Debby,  "and  I  want  her  to  done  forget  eberyting 
that  look  like  she's  daid  and  gone ;  jes  'member 
only  her  pretty  mamma  all  smilin'  in  her  sleep." 

And  so  they  left  her  while  the  neighbors  came 
with  kind  offers  of  help  and  departed,  astonished  that 
there  seemed  nothing  left  to  be  done,  and  that  they 
did  not  even  wish  to  have  the  little  child  taken  out 
of  the  way.  And  still  more  to  their  astonishment, 
they  left  her  lying  there,  with  the  flowers  bright 
colored  as  well  as  white,  smiling  around  her  during 
the  short  home  services,  which  were  all  that  Katha- 
rine desired  to  have.  "  She  is  all  my  own,"  she  had 
said  to  the  kind  pastor.  "  I  cannot  bear  to  take 
my  sorrow  before  the  crowd  in  the  church,  or  to 
think  of  her  lying  there  for  every  careless  eye  to 
gaze  upon." 

"  But  you  forget,"  he  said,  gently,  "  that  she  is 
the  daughter  of  one  pastor  and  the  widow  of  an- 
other. The  church  claims  its  right  to  mourn  her 
as  a  part  of  itself.  She  was  a  child  of  the  church, 
and,"  he  added  with  a  touch  of  severity  in  his  tone, 
"  she  has  loved  it  and  clung  to  it  through  all  her 
life." 

"  Why  could  not  the  people  come  here  ? "  asked 
Katharine. 

"  So  they  can  and  so  they  will,  but  the  house  will 
not  hold  them.  Have  your  own  service  here  if  you 


KATHARINE  GRAY  69 

wish,  and  let  those  come  who  knew  her  best ;  but 
after  it  is  over,  let  her  lie  before  the  pulpit  where 
her  father  and  her  husband  ministered  in  life,  and 
where  they  rested  in  death.  The  people  loved  her, 
Mrs.  Gray." 

And  so  they  did,  though  had  Katharine  heard 
poor  old  Matilda  Todd,  the  town  tailoress  who  knew 
the  "ins  and  outs  of  every  house  in  town,"  she 
might  have  felt  that  even  such  neighborly  love  as 
theirs  had  its  mixture  of  alloy. 

"  I  call  it  downright  pagan,  I  do,"  Tilda  confided 
to  her  particular  crony,  Widow  Jones,  who  earned 
her  living  going  out  nursing,  and  felt  just  a  little 
"hurt"  that  one  who  belonged,  so  to  speak,  to  the 
parish  should  have  departed  this  life  without  her 
professional  assistance. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know's  I'd  say  pagan,  for  after  all 
I  don't  s'pose  Katharine  would  bow  down  to  wood 
and  stone,  'though  they  do  say  she  married  a  friv- 
'lous  kind  of  a  feller  jest  because  his  folks  had 
money.  Worshipin'  gods  of  silver  and  gold  ain't 
true  religion,  and  won't  stand  in  the  day  of  jedg- 
ment.  But  to  go  and  lay  anybody  eout  right  on 
the  fam'ly  sofy,  where  everybody  sot  and  sot,  and 
put  over  'em  a  blue  afghan  with  a  streak  er  yeller 
in  the  border,  and  red  and  yeller  flowers  instead  of 
white — well,  'tain't  accordin'  to  Scriptur,  anyhow." 

"  'Tain't  accordin'  to  no  fashion  for  fust-class 
funerals  that  ever  I  see,"  answered  Tilda,  sorrow- 
fully, "and  for  one  I'm  sure  I  felt  's  if  she  was 
layin'  down  there  kinder  beat  out,  jest  tryin'  to 
take  a  nap." 

"  But  that  Katharine  Gray  is  goin'  to  have  her 


70  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

own  way  every  time,"  said  the  widow.  "  She  never 
did  care  nothin'  what  folks  said,  and  all  creation 
couldn't  stop  her  if  she  got  a  notion  in  her  head. 
I  s'pose  she  thought  she  would  look  more  natural, 
but  to  me  she  only  looked  as  if  she  didn't  belong 
here,  and  hadn't  been  pervided  with  any  way  to  get 
away,  and  it's  my  opinion,  if  she  could  speak,  she 
would  ask  to  be  comfortably  put  in  her  coffin,  like 
other  folks." 

Yet,  notwithstanding  this  minor  strain  of  dissent 
that  ran  through  all  the  sad  preparations,  a  protest 
that  she  felt  if  she  did  not  hear  it,  Katharine  held 
to  her  plan,  only  consenting  at  last  to  have  the  ser- 
vice at  the  house  precede  a  later  one  at  the  church. 
And  when  it  was  over — the  soft  light,  the  sweet 
music  of  the  church  choir,  the  kind  pastor's  fatherly 
words — and  they  had  borne  her  sister  to  the  church, 
then  and  only  then  Katharine  knew  how  hard  it 
was  for  her  to  pass  within  that  old  familiar  place. 
The  old  family  pew  where  she  had  sat  as  a  child, 
clinging  tightly  to  her  mother's  hand,  the  pulpit 
where  her  father  preached  and  before  which  she 
took  her  early  vows,  the  place  where  they  both  lay 
in  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking — these  all  filled 
a  cruel  hour  full  to  the  brim  of  sorrow  and  of  pain. 
Memory,  that  had  seemed  numbed  and  dead  since 
that  first  troubled  night,  waked  again  to  life.  At 
the  open  grave  in  the  old  familiar  churchyard  it 
was  harder  still.  If  from  the  grassy  mounds  before 
her  had  risen  the  two  who  had  loved  and  prayed 
for  her  through  all  her  wayward  youth,  to  chide  her 
with  the  patient  look  and  smile  she  never  could 
forget,  they  could  not  have  seemed  nearer  than 


KATHARINE   GRAY  71 

they  did  in  this  hour  when  she  saw  the  new  mound 
made  beside  the  others  on  which  the  grass  was  grow- 
ing. Vainly  she  tried  to  hold  herself  still  and  tear- 
less before  all  these  neighbors  lingering  about  the 
gate,  watching  her  white  face  as  if  they  would  read 
therein  every  trace  of  the  life  since  she  went  out 
from  among  them  so  long  ago.  Vainly  she  tried  to 
be  strong,  to  bear  their  looks  and  the  pastor's  har- 
rowing words.  Quietly  she  went  back  to  the  car- 
riage, but  when  it  reached  the  door  they  had  to 
bear  her,  as  if  she  too  were  dead,  into  the  house, 
and  lay  her  on  the  wide  couch  her  sister  had  just 
forsaken  for  the  narrow  bed  beside  her  best  beloved. 

After  these  days  the  stillness  that  settled  down 
upon  the  old  parsonage  was  too  solemn  for  a  soul 
at  war  with  itself.  Black  Deborah's  garrulous  old 
tongue  was  silent  as  she  went  dejectedly  about  set- 
ting the  house  in  order,  sighing  audibly  as  she 
gathered  up  and  put  out  of  sight  the  belongings 
of  her  dear  young  mistress.  Even  the  cradle- 
songs  crooned  in  the  low,  sweet  minor  of  her  race 
no  longer  answered  the  cooing  or  crying  of  the 
orphan  child.  For  old  Debby  was  stricken  to  the 
very  heart  by  a  new  sorrow,  heavier  to  bear,  if  that 
were  possible,  than  the  old.  She  had  lost  master 
and  mistress,  and  now  she  was  to  be  separated 
from  their  only  child.  Mrs.  Gray  had  willed  it,  had 
planned  it,  her  own  heart  aching  all  the  while,  for 
none  knew  better  than  did  she  what  it  meant  to  be 
parted  from  a  child  beloved. 

Sometimes  at  twilight  or  in  the  early  dawn,  look- 
ing out  across  the  churchyard  from  the  south-room 
window,  she  shuddered  as  if  from  the  grave  near 


72  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

the  ivy-grown  gate  she  feared  to  see  a  form  arise 
with  outstretched  arms  and  reproachful  eyes,  de- 
manding that  she  give  back  the  child,  restore  the 
trust  that  had  been  committed  to  her  hands.  At 
such  moments,  an  almost  uncontrollable  impulse 
urged  her  to  flee,  alone  and  at  once,  back  to  the 
place  where  her  own  little  one  was  hidden,  leaving 
this  babe  to  Debby's  cherishing  care.  Why  should 
she  not  ?  Debby  would  take  her  to  her  father's 
Southern  relatives.  To  them  she  could  pass  over 
her  own  responsibility  and  her  control  over  the  life 
and  fortune  of  the  child.  She  would  be  safe  with 
them.  No  counter  interest  could  divert  them  from 
her  care.  No  other  child  was  tugging  at  their 
heartstrings,  reminding  them  that  for  her  there 
was  no  chance,  no  means,  no  kind  provision  for 
her  needs  and  care.  True  she  had  promised  her 
sister  to  keep  the  little  one  with  her,  to  guard  her 
interests  as  she  would  her  own;  and  that  promise 
would  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  justify  her  in  send- 
ing Debby  away,  and  taking  the  babe  into  her  own 
sole  keeping.  But  in  her  inmost  soul  she  knew 
that  from  that  promise  she  would  have  been  ab- 
solved before  her  sister  died,  had  Eunice  known 
the  truth.  Somehow  she  could  not  shake  off  the 
feeling  that  she  knew  it  now,  and  that  the  dead 
mother's  heart-protest  was  as  strong  against  her 
keeping  the  child  as  the  pleading  to  take  it  had 
been. 

No  wonder,  with  this  inward  conflict  raging  night 
after  night,  that  she  longed  to  be  free  from  the 
sight  of  Debby's  jealous,  watchful  eyes,  jealous  lest 
Katharine  should  not  love  the  baby  enough,  and 


KATHARINE   GRAY  73 

lest  the  babe  should  come  to  love  Katharine  too 
much.  It  was  a  great  sacrifice  in  one  way  to  let 
Debby  go  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  how  could  she 
take  her  to  Chicago  ?  How  could  she  find  her  own 
child  and  rear  the  two  together,  one  in  poverty  and 
one  in  plenty  ?  How  could  she  spend  her  heart's 
love  on  one,  and  give  the  fragments  of  that  fierce 
mother-love  to  this  other  child,  as  she  knew  she 
would,  and  yet  have  Debby's  reproachful  face  for- 
ever in  her  sight  ?  No,  Debby  must  go  back  to 
the  old  Southern  home.  Katharine  would  bring 
the  child  to  the  Southern  aunt  often,  but  now, 
just  now,  she  must  fulfill  her  sister's  wishes,  and 
keep  the  baby  in  her  own  especial  care. 

In  the  solemn  night  hours  before  her  sister  died, 
the  powers  of  darkness  and  light  had  made  a  battle- 
ground of  her  heart,  and  the  light  had  almost 
claimed  the  field.  Now,  again  the  roads  divided. 
On  one  hand,  poverty,  honor,  principle,  return  to 
duty  and  absolute  truth  of  character  and  to  life- 
long struggle  to  protect  and  rear  her  own.  On 
the  other  hand,  who  knew,  who  could  say,  if  she 
kept  her  sister's  child,  what  might  open  out  for 
her  own  ?  And,  after  all,  was  it  more  than  justice 
to  her  own  that  she  should  share  that  which  had 
been  withheld  from  herself,  and  which  should  have 
been  divided  between  the  two  instead  of  having 
been  all  bestowed  on  one  ? 

And  so  the  battle  waged,  and  the  angels,  if  they 
hover  about  human  lives  as  they  are  thought  to  do, 
waiting  to  bear  the  news  that  makes  great  joy  in 
heaven,  must  have  turned  back  often  with  drooping 
wings  and  downcast  eyes  into  the  presence  of  God. 


74  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

And  all  these  days  the  outward  tasks  went  on, 
and  Mrs.  Gray's  hard  experiences  in  the  use  of  her 
own  hands  made  rapid  work  of  setting  in  order  all 
that  pertained  to  the  house,  and  the  quick  brain  that 
had  worked  so  long  at  her  own  problems,  was 
equally  ready  in  grasping  the  business  left  in  her 
care.  Indeed,  all  this  had  been  wisely  and  carefully 
adjusted  both  by  her  father  and  by  the  husband  of 
her  sister,  Lawrence  Wild.  By  her  father's  will  all 
his  savings  and  a  few  thousand  dollars  that  had 
come  to  him  from  her  mother's  family  had  been  left 
for  the  use  of  Eunice,  the  younger  sister,  during 
her  life,  and  to  her  child  or  children  at  her  death. 
No  mention  was  made  of  the  elder  sister  except 
the  hope  that,  should  she  ever  return  in  need  of  a 
home,  the  old  parsonage  might  be  her  shelter  as 
long  as  she  had  use  for  it,  even  to  the  time  of  her 
death,  when  it  too,  should  revert  to  her  sister's 
child. 

True  to  this  suggestion  Eunice  had  left  this  home- 
place  to  Katharine  and  had  made  her  the  guardian 
of  her  child,  with  full  control  of  all  this  inheritance, 
as  well  as  of  that  much  larger  estate  that  came  to 
her  from  her  father's  Southern  relatives,  and  the 
promised  inheritance  that  was  to  come  on  the  death 
of  the  relative  now  passing  her  declining  years  in 
the  Washington  mansion  that  had  been  beloved  by 
all  the  family. 

Left  widowed  and  wealthy  while  still  young, 
Marion  Wild  had  resisted  all  attempts  to  induce 
her  to  form  new  ties,  because  that  which  bound  her 
to  her  younger  brother  Walter  was  one  of  special 
tenderness  and  strength.  They  had  grown  up  to- 


KATHARINE  GRAY  75 

gether  on  the  North  Carolina  plantation  where 
their  parents  died.  For  Marion  there  had  come 
the  early  marriage  to  Roger  Maitland  and  the  life 
in  a  foreign  capital.  For  Walter  a  brilliant  career 
in  a  Northern  university,  a  rapid  and  deserved  pro- 
motion at  the  bar,  and  an  early  and  repeated  election 
to  Congress. 

Coming  back  to  her  brother  after  the  death  of 
her  husband,  Mrs.  Maitland  found  the  plantation 
life  had  given  place  to  that  of  Washington,  and  it 
was  she  who  built  the  home  into  which  the  brother, 
of  whom  she  was  so  proud  and  fond,  brought  the 
gentle  Northern  girl  who  was  his  wife.  It  was  she, 
stately,  gracious,  cultured,  whose  warm  Southern 
heart  made  home  for  everything  her  brother  loved, 
whose  dignity  and  grace  of  bearing  gave  that  home 
its  tone  and  character,  while  her  nobility  of  nature 
and  Christian  spirit  made  it  a  social  and  religious 
center  for  the  best  that  Washington  could  afford. 
More  and  more  the  Southern  plantation  called 
"  Beechlands,"  grew  to  be  like  a  winter  retreat  for 
the  household,  while  "  Wildholm,"  the  Boundary 
Heights  mansion  became  more  and  more  the  family 
home. 

Here  Lawrence,  the  husband  of  Eunice,  was 
born.  Hither  Debby  was  transplanted  for  the  com- 
fort and  the  care  of  the  child.  Remembering  his 
own  college  life,  Mr.  Wild  had  sent  his  son  to  his 
own  alma  mater,  and  remembering  the  sweet 
woman  he  had  himself  brought  home  to  Washing- 
ton from  the  Northern  college  town,  he  was  not 
disturbed  when  Lawrence  made  choice  of  a  country 
parson's  daughter  and  a  country  parson's  life. 


76  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

Concerning  his  son's  ability  to  prove  himself 
worthy,  in  time,  of  the  largest  field  in  the  profes- 
sion he  had  chosen,  he  had  no  question,  but  he  had 
seen  too  much  of  public  men  and  public  life  to 
undervalue  the  discipline  of  years  of  honest  hard 
work  and  simple  living,  for  a  brilliant  fellow  at  the 
outset  of  his  career. 

In  the  midst  of  much  in  his  association  that  was 
quite  the  opposite,  Judge  Wild  had  preserved  an 
ideal  and  a  standard  of  Christian  manhood  none 
too  common  in  the  world's  high  places.  How  much 
of  his  power  to  maintain  it  was  due  to  the  two 
good  women,  his  sister  and  his  wife,  he  did  not  real- 
ize, and  of  their  unconscious  influence  they  never 
even  dreamed.  Utterly  unlike  in  character  and 
culture,  the  Southern  woman  of  the  world  and  the 
daughter  of  a  truly  Puritan  professor  of  theology 
were  yet  one  in  the  value  they  placed  upon  Christian 
integrity  of  principle  and  life.  That  Lawrence 
should  be  grounded  in  these  particulars  was  more 
to  them  than  any  honors  or  successes  that  might 
crown  his  later  years.  That  Debby's  prophecy 
that  "  he  should  preach  and  magnify  the  Lord,"  had 
been  fulfilled,  was  the  comfort  of  his  mother  in  her 
dying  hour.  And  when,  not  long  after  his  mother's 
departure,  there  had  followed  the  shock  of  Larry's 
sudden  death,  the  aged,  stricken  father  found  a 
consolation  for  his  sore  grief  and  broken  ambitions 
in  the  thought  of  the  lowly  service  that  had  claimed 
his  boy's  young  life. 

And  when  within  one  year  he  too  went  on  to 
join  his  wife  and  son,  and  Marion  Maitland  was  left 
alone  in  the  home,  it  was  not  strange  that  her 


KATHARINE   GRAY  77 

desolate  heart  turned  tenderly  and  longingly  toward 
Larry's  only  child.  It  was  she  who  had  brought 
Debby  again  from  the  old  plantation,  whither  she 
had  returned  to  dwell  among  her  kindred  and  to 
aid  in  the  care  of  Beechlands,  and  sent  her  to 
Walden,  to  be  the  nurse  for  Larry's  little  girl. 
After  Larry's  death  she  had  written,  urging  the 
mother  to  give  up  the  parsonage  home  and  come  to 
her ;  but  already  the  influence  of  weakness  and 
pain  was  creeping  upon  her,  and  she  had  waited, 
dreading  to  sever  the  old  ties,  or  to  leave  the  house 
which  had  been  the  only  home  she  ever  knew. 
And  while  she  lingered,  the  enemy  stole  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  citadel  of  her  life  which  had  gone 
out  at  last,  without  her  ever  seeing  the  face  of  the 
woman  God  had  provided  to  be  her  strongest  pro- 
tector and  her  truest  friend. 

And  to  this  woman  it  was  that  the  heartbroken 
Debby  went  back  one  late  spring  morning.  She 
had  arrived  at  daybreak,  and  the  servants — her  fel- 
lows, some  of  them,  in  the  past  plantation  days — 
yielded  her  at  once  her  old  place  as  the  special 
care-taker  of  "  Miss  Marion,"  who  opened  her  eyes 
to  find  her  standing  there,  tray  in  hand,  as  if  she 
had  never  been  away. 

"Why,  Deborah,  dear  Aunt  Debby,  how  glad  I 
am  to  see  you  !  How  glad  I  am  to  have  you  come 
back  to  me ! "  And  the  white  hand  grasped  the 
dusky  one  with  the  warm  clasp  of  a  friend. 

For  a  moment  Debby  kept  the  quiver  out  of  her 
wrinkled  old  face,  and  bathed  the  forehead  of  her 
mistress  as  tenderly  as  she  would  have  touched  a 
child.  "  Don't  do  that,  Debby.  You  must  not 


78  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

begin  to  spoil  me,"  said  Marion,  as  Debby  reached 
out  to  bathe  her  hands.  "  You  may  pour  my  coffee, 
please."  But  the  effort  to  turn  aside  the  tide  of 
emotion  that  was  swelling  the  poor  woman's  heart 
was  useless. 

"  Don't  you  turn  'way  now,  Miss  Marion.  I  jest 
mus'  take  care  somebody,  chile.  I'se  poor — no 
'count,  old  Debby — I  is,  but  somebody  done  got 
have  me  roun'."  And  throwing  herself  by  the  bed- 
side, she  buried  her  gray  head  in  the  coverlet  and 
sobbed  and  cried.  "  You's  my  fust  baby,  Miss 
Marion,  and  I  toted  yer  day  and  night  for  yer 
mammy.  And  I  toted  your  brudder  Walter  when 
he  was  a  little  tot,  and  walked  the  floor  with  him 
many  and  many  a  night.  And  I  toted  Massa  Larry, 
and  Massa  Larry's  baby  too,  and  I  nursed  Miss 
Eunice,  jest  like  she  born  one  er  the  fambly. 
And  now  they's  gone,  they's  all  gone,  and  I'se  got 
to  tote  somebody,  Miss  Marion,  I'se  got  to  have 
somebody  to  tote."  And  she  held  up  her  empty 
arms  to  the  air  with  such  a  look  of  despair  as 
revealed  even  better  than  words  the  hunger  of  her 
heart. 

"That's  true,  Debby,  that's  true,  and  you  shall 
take  care  of  me  now.  I  need  you,  Debby.  I'm 
getting  old  and  like  a  child  again  myself,  since — 
since  they  all  went  away."  And  she  passed  her 
hand  soothingly  over  the  bowed  shoulders.  "  Come, 
Debby,  you  must  help  me  now.  See,  my  coffee  is 
all  cold.  Run  and  bring  me  a  fresh  cup."  And 
she  followed  her  with  pitiful  eyes  as  she  shuffled 
away,  hanging  her  head  as  if  ashamed  of  the  sudden 
outburst  of  distress. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  79 

"  Why  did  not  Mrs.  Gray  come  this  way  with  the 
child,  Deborah,  as  I  invited  her  to  do,  when  she 
wrote  me  she  must  take  her  to  Chicago,  and  send 
you  back  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  dun  know,  miss.  She  done  tol  me  she  gwine 
write  you  she  mus'  go  to  Chicago  mighty  fas'. 
Mighty  curus,  'pears  like ;  but  Miss  Gray  she  nice 
and  kind  and  good  to  me,  powerful  good,  but  she 
ain't  been  brought  up  like  we  have,  and  somehow 
she  didn't  seem  to  sense  it  that  we  was  the  fambly. 
She  work  all  day  twice  as  hard  as  me,  and  all  night 
too.  I  hear  her  when  I  couldn't  sleep  for  thinkin' 
'bout  leavin'  the  chile.  She  jest  work  and  work  to 
get  all  ready  ;  she  in  such  powerful  hurry.  Reckon 
she  couldn't  wait  no  more  days,  nohow.  She  took 
it  hard,  her  po'  sister's  goin'  right  off,  fo'  she  had 
time  to  tell  her  none  her  troubles.  Shore  enough 
she  had  troubles.  I  knows  it,  though  she's  that 
kind  as  never  tells  a  word — no,  not  even  if  it  killed 
her  she  wouldn't  tell ;  but  I  pitied  her,  pore  thing, 
and  reckon  if  her  sister  had  lived,  she  would  have 
jest  loved  her  into  cryin'  it  all  out.  I  tell  ye,  Miss 
Marion,  she  looked — well,"  and  she  drew  nearer 
and  whispered  out  the  words,  "she  looked  haunted; 
she  used  to  moan  and  cry  in  the  night,  when  she 
tho't  I  was  asleep,  and  in  the  morning  she  jest 
looked — I  don't  know  how  to  call  it — haunted." 

"  Poor  thing,  I  have  no  doubt  she  has  seen  much 
sorrow,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  gently,  "and  her 
sister  was  the  last  of  all  her  kin.  I  wish  she  had 
come  this  way  and  let  me  see  if  I  could  not  be  a 
friend  and  help  her  in  the  care  of  Larry's  child." 
And  she  gave  a  disappointed  sigh. 


80  THE  TEMPTATION 

"  Not  she,  Miss  Marion,  not  she ;  she  was  nice 
and  good,  Miss  Marion,  and  very  sorry,  she  said,  to 
part  with  me;  but  she  had  lost  a  child  of  her 
own— 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  asked  Marion,  quickly. 

"  I  found  her  hugging  and  kissing  our  baby,  and 
holding  it  tight,  and  crying  all  the  time,  as  if  her 
heart  would  break  :  '  My  baby,  my  poor  little  lost 
baby  ! '  I  reckon,  miss,"  and  the  voice  sank  again, 
"  that  she  wanted  our  baby  in  place  of  her  baby 
that  was  dead.  She  was  'feared  she  would  cling  to 
me  if  I  went  along,  or  that  you  would  want  to  keep 
her  if  you  once  got  her  home." 

"  Indeed  I  would,"  said  the  lady,  fervently;  "and 
yet  her  sister  placed  the  baby  in  her  care,  and  she 
is  young  and  strong,  and  could  do  so  much  better 
for  her  than  I  could.  And  yet,  and  yet — well,  no 
doubt  she  was  right  and  had  good  reason  to  hasten 
back  to  her  home.  She  wrote  me  she  would  bring 
the  child  here  before  long.  If  I  were  not  so  feeble 
and  so  old  I  would  go  to  Chicago  to  see  her." 

"  We  isn't  too  old,  honey,"  said  Debby,  promptly. 
"  I  could  take  keer  of  ye,  chile." 

"  So  you  could,  Debby,  and  if  she  does  not  come 
before  long  we  will  try  to  go  together." 

"  You  won't  wait  till  the  baby  forgets  me,  will  ye, 
miss  ?  "  said  Debby,  her  dark  face  brightening. 

"  No,  indeed,  Debby,  and  perhaps  if  she  promised 
her  sister,  as  she  writes,  that  she  will  not  be  parted 
from  the  child,  she  will  come  here  and  live  with  us, 
and  then  we  can  all  have  the  little  one  as  much  as 
our  hearts  desire."  And  comforted  and  cheered, 
old  Debby  took  back  into  her  heart  a  hope. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AND  while  this  talk  was  going  on  in  this  wide 
fair  chamber,  with  the  fragrance  of  the 
spring  blossoms  drifting  in  upon  those  two  whose 
hearts  mourned  for  a  lost  child,  another  heart, 
younger  than  either  by  a  score  of  years,  and  older 
far  because  of  lack  of  love,  was  watching  in  the 
upper  chamber  of  a  Chicago  tenement  house  be- 
side the  cradle  of  a  sleeping  child.  It  was  not  the 
same  room,  though  almost  as  poverty-stricken  in 
its  appearance  as  the  one  in  the  house  with  Mrs. 
Gray's  only  friends,  the  Widow  Burke  and  Theo- 
dore, her  son.  Nor  was  it  the  same  little  child,  nor 
was  it  the  same  woman,  though  features  and  form 
were  unaltered,  and  the  pale,  hard  face  gave  little 
sign  of  the  subtle  inward  change  that  had  over- 
swept  the  soul.  She  sat  silent,  her  pallor  deep- 
ened by  her  black  dress,  one  foot  upon  the  rocker 
and  one  hand  supporting  her  chin,  while  her  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  small  cold  bit  of  gray  sky,  fast 
deepening  into  night,  that  could  be  seen  through 
the  upper  window-pane. 

In  their  look  of  concentrated  resolve,  her  eyes 
were  not  unlike  that  lowering,  darkening  sky.  She 
had  traveled  all  the  long  way  in  silence,  except 
when  she  answered  soothingly  the  cry  of  the  tired 
and  fretful  child.  She  had  tended  it  with  utmost 
watchfulness  and  care,  but  with  never  a  smile  and 

F  81 


82  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

hardly  a  kiss,  though  she  hushed  it  with  her  lips 
against  the  soft  hair  as  she  held  it  against  her 
breast.  She  had  parted  from  her  fellow-travelers — 
kindly,  commonplace  people  who  shrank,  she  ian- 
cied,  from  her  pallid  face — with  a  silent  nod,  and 
walked  forth  from  the  station  into  the  darkness  and 
the  rain.  She  had  gone  straight  to  an  agency  and 
asked  for  a  list  of  thoroughly  respectable  furnished 
rooms  with  honest  people,  who  had  only  .first-class 
lodgers.  She  chose  one  just  around  the  corner  from 
Brand  street,  for  in  Brand  street  lived  Mrs.  Burke 
and  Theodore,  her  only  and  faithful  friends.  She 
would  not  go  back  to  the  old  room,  lest  her 
husband  should  seek  her  there,  and,  moreover, 
though  her  lonely  heart  would  have  welcomed  a 
sight  of  Biddy's  honest  smile,  she  would  not  seek 
her  until  she  "  had  made  up  her  mind." 

For  all  this  time  of  weary  days  and  haunted 
nights  she  was  tormented  by  conflicting  tempta- 
tions, but  no  one  of  them  all  was  like  the  torment 
of  her  indecision.  One  maddening  purpose  to  find 
her  child  and  to  keep  her  for  her  own,  stood  like  a 
rock  in  the  tossing  sea  of  her  other  shifting  plans. 
When  she  had  found  her,  what  should  she  do  with 
her  ?  What  with  the  other  child  ?  Where  should 
she  flee  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  her  husband's 
wrath  ?  How  support  her  own,  if  she  must  have 
the  care  of  another  little  one  as  well  ?  How  repay 
to  the  fund  that  had  been  placed  in  her  hands  by 
her  sister's  lawyer,  that  which  she  was  already 
using  to  recover  her  little  girl  ?  How  rear  them 
together,  one  in  plenty  and  the  other  in  poverty, 
when  one  was  her  own  very  heart  and  life. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  83 

All  these  and  more  were  part  of  the  torment 
that  was  hidden  behind  her  silence,  and  as  she  sat 
there  with  no  conscious  decision  to  consider  her 
child  before  she  considered  her  duty,  she  yet  "  made 
up  her  mind."  Once  decided,  she  waited  no  longer. 
With  a  last  look  at  the  sleeping  babe,  she  locked 
the  door,  and  taking  the  key,  hurried  down  the 
stairs  and  around  the  corner,  and  in  at  the  door  of 
Biddy's  dwelling.  As  she  paused  in  the  familiar 
passage,  a  clattering  step  came  down  from  the 
rooms  above.  She  knew  it,  and  it  did  not  need  the 
gleam  of  Teddy's  red  hair  flashing  across  the  dimly 
lighted  entry  to  show  her  that  her  friend  was  really 
there.  As  he  darted  forward  she  thrust  forth  her 
hand.  He  paused  suddenly,  gave  a  little  exultant 
whoop,  and  his  Hibernian  legs  began  to  shuffle  and 
caper  as  if  determined  to  dance  in  spite  of  his 
sense  of  propriety.  After  a  breakdown  of  a  quarter 
of  a  minute,  his  excitement  subsided  as  suddenly 
as  it  came,  and  he  stood  before  her  with  hat  in 
hand,  his  eyes  cast  down,  waiting  for  his  com- 
mands. 

"  Come  home  with  me,  Theodore,  I  want  you," 
she  said,  and  giving  one  glance  upward  as  if  he 
heard  the  sound  of  Widdy  Biddy's  slipper  on  the 
stair,  he  said,  "  Will  I  fly  to  the  top  and  tell  me 
mother,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Not  now,  Teddy,  perhaps  by-and-by.  I  will  tell 
you  where  I  am  staying,  and  you  can  bring  her  in 
the  morning  ;  but  now  I  want  to  see  you  quite  alone. 
You  must  come  to  my  room,  Teddy,  for  I  have 
brought  back  with  me  my  sister's  little  girl,  and  I 
am  not  willing  to  leave  her  a  minute  alone." 


84  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

When  once  inside  the  door,  she  took  the  lamp 
and  held  it  so  that  its  light  fell  upon  the  sleeping 
face.  The  baby  moved  uneasily  and  smiled. 
Teddy  had  tiptoed  close  beside  her.  "  Faith  and 
its  another  almost  the  same  as  me  own,"  he  whis- 
pered. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "they  are  much  alike,  and 
about  the  same  age,  and  I  want  you  to  be  good  to 
them  both." 

"  Dade  and  I  will  that,"  said  he,  proudly ;  "  but 
its  your  baby,  ma'am,  that  I  be  lovin'  the  best ;  and 
the  Widdy  Biddy,  that's  me  mother,  and  me,  we 
spakes  of  her  iver  as  'me  own.'  Its  lookin'  for  her 
ivery  day,  I  am  ; "  and  he  drew  near  and  added  in  a 
tragic  whisper,  "and  it's  me  that's  afther  findin' 
her  for  ye,  ma'am." 

"  What  !  "  she  caught  his  arm,  gasping.  "  What ! 
You  have  found  her  ?  Oh,  Teddy,  where  is  she  ? 
Come  with  me  at  once  and  get  her.  I  must  see 
my  child.  Take  me  quickly,  Teddy,  I  cannot  wait." 

"  Not  to-night,  ma'am,  not  to-night.  It's  the 
father  of  her  goes  ivery  night  and  stays  shlapin'  in 
the  same  house  wid  her.  It's  a  dacent  house  too, 
and  a  dacent  woman  kapes  it,  and  she  takes  good 
care  of  the  child,  and  rints  her  rooms  to  any  one 
that's  wantin'." 

"  Take  me  there,  Teddy.  No.  I  must  not  leave 
this  little  one.  You  stay  here  and  watch  her  for 
me,  and  I  will  go  myself.  Tell  me  which  car  to 
take  and  the  very  shortest  way,"  and,  too  restless 
to  pause  for  an  answer,  she  stood  impatient  before 
the  startled  lad.  But  Teddy's  wits,  suddenly  put 
to  flight  by  her  vehemence,  were  not  slow  to  rally. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  85 

He  knew  the  uselessness  of  trying  to  make  her 
wait ;  he  knew  the  worse  than  uselessness  of  her 
going  on  such  an  errand  at  night,  and  the  danger 
of  her  meeting  her  worst  enemy  face  to  face  if 
she  tried  to  enter  the  house  where  her  child  was. 
He  knew  also  how  impossible  it  would  be  to  hold 
her  back  from  a  sight  of  her  babe,  if  once  she 
stood  before  its  hiding-place.  There  was  only  a 
moment  for  thinking,  but  in  that  moment  the  boy 
seemed  to  become  a  man.  If  she  must  go,  she 
must.  He  would  not  think  of  controlling  her,  but 
she  must  not  go  without  him. 

"  Lave  me  run  for  me  mother,  ma'am,  to  sthop 
wid  the  babby  here,  and  thin  I'll  show  ye  the  way." 

"  No,  no,  I  will  not  wait,  and  I  do  not  want  you 
with  me,  Teddy.  I  will  not  have  you." 

"  Will  ye  promise  me  thin  that  ye'll  not  make 
a  rap  at  the  door  to-night  ?  Sure  as  ye  do,  the 
woman  will  call  the  father,  bad  luck  to  him, 
and  they'll  not  give  ye  the  child,  and  they'll  call 
the  perlice,  and  he'll  drive  yez  away,  and  they'll 
say  ye  are  mad  or  ye're  drunk,  and  before  ye  get 
out  er  the  station  house  in  the  mornin'  they'll  be 
bringin'  the  baby  away,  and  I'll  niver  be  able  to 
find  her  no  more." 

Suddenly  conscious  of  his  long  speech,  he  hung 
his  head.  His  face  flushed,  and  he  turned  quickly 
to  the  window  to  hide  his  quivering  lips  and  the 
merry  eyes  clouded  with  tears. 

"  And  who  are  you,  that  should  tell  me  what  I 
may  or  may  not  do  ?  Who  are  you  to  stand  between 
me  and  my  own  child  ?  " 

"  Only  Teddy,  ma'am,  only  Widdy  Biddy's  Ted  ; 


86  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

and  sure  yez  wouldn't  be  givin'  the  thafe  of  a  man 
the  chance  to  be  off  wid  the  baby  again  when  I 
found  her  for  yez  the  onct  ? " 

"  I  do  not  care  for  the  man  I  tell  you.  I  am 
going  to  claim  my  child." 

Teddy's  tender  pleading  eyes  suddenly  darkened 
and  glowed. 

"  Tell  me  where  to  find  her,"  she  ordered. 

"  Niver  a  word,"  he  answered,  "  till  ye  give  me 
yer  promise.  I'll  not  have  her  stolen  again." 

And,  silenced  by  the  boy's  dogged  resistance,  she 
promised,  and  taking  from  him  the  street  and  num- 
ber, she  almost  flew  out  of  the  house.  Hardly  had 
her  steps  died  on  the  stairs  before  he  was  after  her, 
in  his  arms  a  squirming  bundle  of  about  equal  quan- 
tities of  blanket  and  baby.  Round  the  corner,  up 
the  staiicase — bursting  into  his  mother's  room — he 
paused,  panting,  while  she,  springing  from  her  knees 
where  she  was  devoutly  telling  her  beads  before  a 
little  pictured  crucifix  pasted  high  against  the  wall, 
confronted  him  with  a  quivering  cap-border  and  for 
once  a  silent  tongue. 

"  Don't  ask  me  a  word,  mother  darlin',  it's  an 
angel  that  ye  are.  Take  care  of  the  new  baby  for 
me,  that's  a  darlin'.  Give  her  plinty  of  milk, 
mother,  and  I'll  be  soon  back  with  a  shtory  to  tell 
that'll  knock  your  cap  off  wid  the  shtandin'  up  of 
ivery  hair  that's  on  yer  blessed  old  head." 

"  Tiddy,  Tiddy,"  she  shrieked,  "  are  you  gone 
crazy,  Ted  ? "  as  he  rolled  the  squirming,  crying 
bundle  into  her  arms. 

"  Not  a  bit  av  it ;  but  I've  found  the  baby,  our 
baby,  and  if  ye  kape  me  here  to  talk  I'll  be  losin' 


KATHARINE   GRAY  87 

her  once  more  as  sure  as  me  name's  Ted."  And 
before  she  could  protest,  he  was  scampering  down 
the  stairs.  He  knew  a  short  cut  and  he  took  it, 
captured  a  car  and  running  a  few  blocks  reached 
the  corner,  where  he  had  told  her  to  leave  the  car, 
in  time  to  see  her  come.  He  slunk  back  out  of 
sight  behind  a  pile  of  lumber  in  a  vacant  lot  op- 
posite the  decent  three-story  house,  and  watched 
her  as  she  paced  restlessly  up  and  down,  gazing  at 
the  windows,  behind  whose  shutters  faint  lights  were 
gleaming.  Would  she  go  in  ?  Would  she  resist  ? 
Would  she,  his  faithful  young  heart  kept  asking, 
would  she  keep  her  word  and  stay  on  the  high  ped- 
estal where  he  thought  she  belonged,  so  far  above 
him,  above  his  mother,  above  any  one  he  knew,  the 
ideal  and  the  idol  of  his  boyish  heart  that  had 
never  yet  seen  anything  sweeter  than  this  woman, 
who  seemed  to  have  Come  to  them  out  of  another 
world  ? 

Would  she  stay  there,  high  up,  like  the  Mother 
Mary,  or  would  she  come  down  from  this  exalted 
place,  and  like  other  people  forget  a  promise  and 
tell  a  lie  ?  He  did  not  know  it,  but  his  young  soul 
was  not  more  afraid  of  trouble  to  the  child,  than  of 
wreck  to  its  ideal.  Already  she  had  shocked  him 
with  her  anger,  her  willfulness,  her  lack  of  reason, 
but  it  was  not  strange  that  she  should  be  "  unray- 
sonable."  "The  Howly  Virgin  herself,"  he  mut- 
tered, "  might  aysily  be  wrathful  wid  a  little  sphal- 
peen  of  a  Ted  like  me."  But  still  he  watched,  every 
nerve  strained,  while  that  restless  figure  went  up 
and  down  and  to  and  fro,  now  nearer,  now  farther, 
and  then  his  heart  went  down,  down,  down,  as  if 


88  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

every  step  of  her  foot  crushed  something  sweet  and 
good  within  him,  as-  she  crossed  the  street  and  de- 
liberately applied  the  knocker  to  the  door. 

Before  her  hand  had  reached  her  side  his  hand 
had  seized  it.  "  Whist  now,  me  leddy  dear,  run 
round  the  corner,  quick.  The  car  is  comin'.  I  hear 
the  bell.  Run,  now,  for  yer  husband  is  just  comin' 
from  the  other  end  of  the  block.  I  saw  him  meself. 
It's  drunk  he  is.  Hurry  now,  it's  yer  one  chance 
of  not  losin'  yer  child,"  and  waiting  no  longer,  he 
hustled  her  down  the  steps,  around  the  corner  and 
into  the  car.  As  it  passed  she  saw  the  house  door 
open  just  in  time  to  admit  the  half-tipsy  man,  who 
staggered  up  the  steps  and  passed  in  out  of  sight. 
And  as  the  horses'  hoofs  clattered  over  the  stony 
road,  and  the  bell  jingled,  and  the  people  passed  in 
and  out,  these  two,  the  strange  boy  and  the  strange 
woman,  spoke  not  a  single  word.  She  was  wrath- 
ful toward  him ;  he  grieved  for  her.  She  must 
wait  a  little  longer  to  get  back  her  child  ;  but  unless 
God's  watching  angels  were  pitiful  there  was  no 
one  to  pity  him — and  he  had  lost  what,  search  the 
wide  world  over,  would  never  come  back  to  him,  his 
faith  in  a  woman's  absolute  tenderness  and  truth. 
And,  in  the  day  when  God's  light  should  flash  down 
upon  the  sins  of  her  soul,  she  would  see  that  not 
the  least  among  them  was  counted  this  hurt  to 
another  soul,  that,  believing  in  her,  believed  also  in 
love  and  truth  and  God. 

At  the  door  of  her  lodging  he  ran  before  her, 
darted  up  the  stairs,  lighted  the  lamp,  and  had  time 
to  give  the  fading  fire  a  vigorous  stir  with  the  poker 
before  she  wearily  climbed  the  steps. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  89 

"  Rist  aisy  a  bit  now,  while  I  run  for  the  baby. 
I  carried  it  out  to  me  mother,"  but  as  he  rushed 
forth  she  followed. 

"  No,  no,  Teddy,  let  me  go  to  her.  I  do  not  like 
to  be  left  alone,"  and,  utterly  defeated  and  weak, 
she  went  with  him  around  the  corner,  and  struggled 
with  aching  feet  up  to  the  chamber  under  the  roof. 

"  And  is  it  back  again  ye  are,  wid  yer  blessed 
saint  of  a  face  shinin'  on  me  old  eyes  ?  Indade, 
but  it's  swate  of  ye  to  come,  for  it's  that  distracted 
I  am  wid  the  monkey  shines  av  that  Ted  of  mine 
that  I  don't  know  me  head  from  me  feet." 

"  The  head  is  the  place  for  yer  cap,  Widdy 
Biddy,"  said  Ted,  picking  it  from  the  bedpost,  and 
replacing  it  upon  her  shining  bald  pate.  "  And  the 
fut  is  the  place  for  yer  shlipper,"  he  added,  push- 
ing her  broad  flat  shoe  toward  her. 

"  Ah,  it's  me  cap  that  the  babby  ye  brought  me 
was  a-scared  at,  and  whin  I  put  it  on  the  bedpost, 
away  she  wint  off  to  her  shlape.  And  as  to  me 
shlipper,  to  wear  'em  out  aven,  there's  nade  for  me 
to  go  one  fut  barefut.  I'm  savin'  that  shlipper  for 
Ted.  It's  me  that's  brought  him  up  not  to  be 
racin'  the  street  o'  nights,  and  I  towld  him  I'd  bate 
him  for  ivery  night  he  wint  out  whin  I  told  him  to 
be  in.  He  said  he  was  hunting  the  baby,  and  he'd 
go  laughin'  at  me  shlipper,  and  sayin'  he'd  take  all 
the  beatin'  to  wonct  if  at  the  ind  of  three  wakes 
he  didn't  find  her.  And  when  the  three  wakes  was 
up,  ma'am,  in  he  comes  to  me  all  noice  and  swate 
on  Saturday  night,  just  out  of  his  bath  in  me  big 
wash  tub,  bringing  me  the  strap  av  me  trunk  that 
I  brought  me  things  in  out  av  the  old  country,  and 


90  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

saying  to  me  all  smiling,  '  I  didn't  find  her  yit, 
Widdy  Biddy  ;  and  it's  three  wakes  and  more,  and 
I  have  brought  yez  the  shtrap,  for  it  hurts  a  dale 
harder  nor  the  shlipper,  and  I'm  a  big  boy  now  and 
the  shlippers  is  for  the  little  chaps  that  don't  work, 
and  don't  hunt  for  the  childer.  It's  not  very  bright 
I  am,  ayther,'  he  said,  discouraged  like,  '  or  I'd  not 
be  goin'  on  three  wakes  widout  findin'  her,  and  I'm 
thinkin'  it's  a  good  beatin'  I  need.  If  yez  makes 
me  shmart,  maybe  it'll  make  me  shmarter.'  ' 

"  But  you  didn't  hurt  him,  surely  you  couldn't  ? " 
said  Katharine,  drawn  away  from  herself  and  her 
trouble  for  a  moment. 

"  And  didn't  I  cry  over  him,  and  beg  to  be  let 
off,  and  didn't  he  cure  me  of  me  promisin'  him  a 
whippin'  foriver  more,  by  howldin'  av  me  to  me 
word  ?  *  If  it's  no  beatin'  ye  give  me  the  night,  it's 
tellin'  me  a  lie  it  is,  mother,  and  it's  breakin'  yer 
word  it  is,  and  it's  deservin'  it  I  am  for  bein'  so 
stupid.  I  couldn't  find  her  yit,  and  in  this  family, 
mother,  the  promise  must  never  be  broken.'  ' 

Katharine  winced  and  turned  away,  and  bent 
over  the  child  sleeping  on  Teddy's  bed,  while  Teddy 
violently  gesticulated  to  his  mother  to  have  done 
with  her  yarns. 

"  Teddy  won't  let  me  finish,  miss,  but  I  had  to 
keep  me  word,  but  I  kept  it  moighty  aisy,  and  whin 
I  had  cut  his  hands  a  bit  with  the  strap  I  dropped 
on  me  old  knees,  and  vowed  a  vow  to  the  Virgin 
that  if  he  moinded,  or  if  he  didn't  moind,  if  he 
drove  me  crazy,  or  lift  me  my  sinses,  I'd  niver  raise 
hand  to  him  again.  And  now  whin  he's  bad,  I  just 
threaten  him,  and  he  says,  '  a  promise  is  a  promise, 


KATHARINE   GRAY  9! 

mither.'  And  thin  I  tell  him  I  promised  niver  to 
raise  me  hand.  I  didn't  promise  for  me  shlipper, 
and  he  laughs  and  says,  '  the  shlipper  won't  lick 
him  itself.'  So  now  he  thinks  he's  the  man  er  the 
house,  and  can  bring  me  all  the  babbies  he  finds." 

"But  this  is  my  sister's  baby,"  said  Katharine, 
glad  to  stop  the  flow  of  Biddy's  words. 

"  And,  indade,  I'm  not  a  goose.  Didn't  I  read  it 
out  for  meself,  though  Ted  wouldn't  shtop  to  tell 
me  the  tale.  Isn't  she  as  like  the  ither  wan  as  two 
peas  ?  Sure  and  I  think  ye'll  be  bringin'  em  up  for 
twins.  But  what  are  ye  doin',  Teddy,  wid  the  tay- 
pot  and  the  frying  pan  ?  " 

"  Going  to  have  some  supper,  mother." 

"  And  why  wasn't  ye  home  to  ate  it  at  the  proper 
Christian  hours  ?  " 

"  Off  wid  me  leddy  after  her  baby.  Didn't  I  tell 
yez  I  found  the  baby,  mither." 

"  Found  her,  is  it,  and  whin  and  where  ?  And 
why  didn't  ye  tell  me  ivery  day  as  ye  wint  along  ? " 

"  If  I  told  ye  I  was  watchin'  the  house  of  the 
grandfather  ivery  night  till  I  saw  the  father  come 
out,  and  that  I  followed  him  to  saloons  and  gam- 
bling houses,  ye  would  have  come  howling  after  yer 
boy.  But  I  did  it  till  I  found  he  used  to  go  and 
shlape  at  this  house  in  B —  -  Street,  on  the  north 
side.  And  thin  I  watched  till  I  found  out  the 
rayson  why.  He  came  to  see  the  baby  was  safe, 
and  I  was  jest  hid  by  the  area  door  whin  one  night 
the  woman  wouldn't  let  him  in  because  he  was  so 
very  drunk,  and  I  heard  her  say  to  him  :  '  I'm  not 
goin'  to  keep  ye,  Masther  Robert,  much  as  I  loved 
yer  mother  and  yerself  whin  ye  was  a  swate  little 


92  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

choild.  Ye  disgrace  a  dacent  house,  comin'  in  that 
tipsy  way,  wakin'  the  neighbors  wid  the  noise ;  and 
I'm  not  goin'  to  kape  the  choild  ayther,  if  ye  don't 
pay  me  as  ye  promised.  I'll  bring  her  to  yer 
father's  office  or  yer  mother's  house  and  lave  her 
there.'  So  thin  I  knew  he  hadn't  paid  for  her." 

While  Teddy  talked,  his  mother  had  relieved  him 
of  teapot,  toasting-fork,  and  saucepan.  She  stirred 
the  fire,  and  soon  placed  on  a  tray  the  tea  and  a 
slice  of  toast,  on  which  rose  a  little  golden  hillock 
of  scrambled  eggs,  and  Katharine,  who  had  not 
known  how  exhausted  and  hungry  she  was,  ate 
every  bit  of  her  portion,  not  however  without  look- 
ing over  to  the  oilcloth-covered  table,  on  the  end 
of  which  a  like  repast  had  been  laid  out  for  Ted. 
And  as  she  looked  at  the  mass  of  yellow  curls,  the 
broad  white  forehead,  the  honest  gray  eyes,  she 
forgot  the  freckled  face  and  foreign  brogue  and 
shabby  clothes,  and  remembered  his  mother's  tale 
of  how  he  had  kept  his  word  to  find  her  child,  and 
in  her  soul  she  recognized  that  here,  in  all  this 
strange  environment,  was  the  heart  and  courage  of 
a  man.  She  had  failed  him,  suddenly  she  realized 
it  with  a  little  flush  of  shame,  but  she  could  trust 
him  now  and  forever,  and  he  was  worthy  to  be  her 
friend.  As  if  some  subtle  spiritual  insight  told  him 
this,  he  suddenly  lifted  his  eyes.  Springing  up,  he 
came  and  lifted  the  tray  from  her  lap,  and  with  a 
look  that  had  in  it  all  promise  of  knightly  service, 
yet  nothing  of  the  servant,  he  smiled  brightly,  and 
said  :  "  Ted's  going  to  get  her  for  you  ;  don't  you 
be  afraid." 

Yet,  she  was  afraid — afraid  herself  to  go  straight 


KATHARINE  GRAY  93 

back  to  the  old  nurse  and  offer  to  pay  for  all  arrears 
in  the  child's  care  and  to  claim  her  and  take  her 
away.  If  the  woman  was  loyal  to  the  family  she 
had  served,  this  move  would  avail  nothing,  and 
would,  she  feared,  incite  her  husband  to  take  such 
steps  as  would,  if  backed  by  the  name  and  influence 
of  his  father,  deprive  her  altogether  of  the  child. 
She  could  not  go  to  her  husband's  parents  and  plead 
with  them  against  his  cruelty ;  there  was  nothing 
to  be  hoped  for  there.  She  knew  nothing  of  the 
law,  which  seemed  to  her  only  an  agency  for  making 
the  poor  and  oppressed  pay  for  continuance  and 
confirmation  of  oppression.  Even  the  money  now 
at  her  command  would  be  as  nothing  against  the 
money  of  Robert's  father.  No,  there  was  one  way 
only,  and  that  was  the  way  Robert  had  taken.  Too 
full  of  this  problem  to  heed  much  of  Biddy's  con- 
stant talk,  she  was  glad  to  get  back  to  her  own 
room  and  to  wait  for  the  slow-coming  dawn. 

When  morning  came,  her  mind  was  once  more 
alert  and  clear,  and  her  heart  could  not  help  being 
buoyed  with  hope.  She  went  to  Mrs.  Burke  at 
once,  and  forcing  the  warm-hearted  old  creature  to 
be  quiet  by  first  consenting  to  drink  the  cup  of 
fragrant  coffee  she  had  prepared,  she  laid  before 
her  her  hopes  and  plans. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  East  with  me  when  I  have 
my  little  one  again,"  she  said.  "  I  cannot  take  both 
children.  It  would  arouse  suspicion,  and  if  my 
husband  tries  to  follow  me,  I  should  be  too  easily 
traced.  You  once  said  you  were  my  servant.  I 
want  your  service,  but  you  are  and  must  always  be 
my  friend.  Give  up  the  laundry.  Come  into  my 


94  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

employ.  We  will  live  in  the  East,  perhaps  even  go 
over  the  sea,  and  you  can  see  the  old  friends  in 
Ireland." 

At  this  hint  Biddy  could  hardly  be  made  to  sit 
still  to  hear  the  rest. 

"  Take  my  sister's  little  girl  now,  and  care  for 
her  for  me  in  these  days  that  I  must  be  absent  so 
much,  watching  for  my  own.  This  little  one  will 
feel  at  home  with  you  then,  and  you  can  bring  her 
to  me  in  the  East.  I  have  a  home  there  now,  and 
you  can  take  care  of  it  and  help  me  with  the  chil- 
dren. I  shall  not  be  rich,  but  it  can  be  made  better 
for  you  than  the  hard  work  you  are  doing  now," 

"And  Teddy?"  asked  the  widow,  her  face  all 
aglow  with  the  prospect.  "  Me  Teddy's  me  life, 
me  leddy." 

"  And  Teddy  shall  come  too,"  said  Katharine. 
"  And,  since  we  must  be  ready  to  go  at  any  mo- 
ment, I  want  you  to  be  doing  everything  to  get 
ready." 

"And  phat'll  I  do  wid  me  tubs  and  me  furni- 
toor  ? "  asked  Biddy,  looking  about  her  clean, 
scantily-furnished  room  with  honest  pride.  "  It's 
not  that  I  mind  lavin'  it  behind,  for  it's  not  like  it 
was  whin  I  left  Ireland.  Thin,  every  stool  and 
table  had  on  it  the  touch  av  me  mother." 

"  Then  you  better  send  what  you  do  not  want  to 
the  salesroom,"  said  Katharine,  "and  the  things 
you  want  begin  to  pack  at  once,  so  that  we  may  go 
by  the  very  next  train  after  I  have  my  child." 

"And  couldn't  I  go  before  ye,  ma'am,  and  be 
gettin'  the  place  in  order  ?  " 

Mrs.  Gray  hesitated  a  moment.     Why  not  ?     It 


KATHARINE    GRAY  95 

would  simplify  matters  to  have  only  herself  to  get 
off.  But  a  second  thought  of  the  probable  effect 
upon  the  old  neighbors  in  Walden  of  Biddy's  advent 
at  the  parsonage  in  charge  of  the  child  sufficed  to 
check  the  temptation  to  haste. 

The  morning  was  spent  in  completing  arrange- 
ments for  sudden  flight.  She  would  go  by  the 
Grand  Trunk  road,  Biddy  by  the  Michigan  Central, 
and  they  would  meet  and  go  on  together  from 
Detroit.  This  decided,  she  hastened  away  to  B — 
Street  once  more,  driven  by  her  eager  heart,  even 
though  she  did  not  know  what  to  do  there,  or  that 
she  could  do  anything  at  all.  After  her  lesson  of 
the  night  before,  she  was  surprised  to  find  that  lack 
of  confidence  in  herself,  and  dread  of  making  matters 
worse  by  premature  action  had  taken  the  place  of 
her  fierce  courage  and  for  the  time  being  paralyzed 
her  powers.  Still  she  went,  and  walking  slowly  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  wondering  behind 
what  window  was  hidden  the  baby  face,  she  sud- 
denly saw  the  side  door  open  and  a  little  wicker 
carriage  pushed  forth  upon  the  walk.  Her  heart 
gave  a  great  bound,  but  she  was  wise  enough  to 
resist  the  desire  to  rush  forward.  Instead,  she 
halted,  partly  hidden  by  the  pile  of  lumber  placed 
in  the  vacant  lot.  Carefully  the  carriage,  with  its 
faded  blue  cambric  parasol,  was  backed  out  at  the 
door,  and  her  heart  almost  stopped  beating  when 
she  saw  that  the  curly-headed,  freckle-faced  boy  who 
was  pushing  it  was  Theodore  Burke,  the  Widdy 
Biddy's  Ted. 

Glancing  hastily  up  and  down  the  street,  as  if 
fearing  the  child's  father  might  appear,  he  caught 


96  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

sight  of  Mrs.  Gray,  and  trundling  the  child  quickly 
past  her,  never  paused  a  moment  except  to  lift  his 
eyes  and  say  under  his  breath,  "  Don't  follow  me, 
lady,  don't  follow.  Go  the  other  way  round  by  the 
church,"  and,  catching  his  thought,  she  passed  him 
with  one  look,  just  one,  at  the  sleeping  baby  face, 
and  one  tight  clenching  of  the  hands  to  keep  them 
from  obeying  her  wild  impulse  to  fold  the  little 
form  to  her  heart. 

The  church  was  three  squares  away.  The  ser- 
vice was  going  on.  There  floated  out  to  her  ears 
the  organ's  notes  and  the  boy  voices  singing  the 
words  of  an  old  hymn  that  she  had  often  heard  at 
the  family  altar  and  in  her  father's  church  at  home. 
But  when  she  reached  the  church  door  and  waited 
for  the  little  carriage  to  come  from  the  opposite 
direction,  so  intent  was  her  mind  in  watching  for  it 
to  appear  that  the  hymn  came  to  her  like  something 
heard  in  dreams.  As  she  stood  there  her  hands 
were  so  tightly  clenched  that  the  nails  cut  into  the 
tender  flesh.  To  the  day  of  her  death  she  never 
forgot  those  distant  floating  sounds,  the  gray  church 
tower,  or  the  swaying  of  the  ivy,  just  putting  out 
its  leaves  of  tender  green  under  the  soft  spring 
wind.  For  a  long  time  she  never  lifted  her  eyes  to 
the  sky  without  remembering  the  mottled,  feathery 
look  that  it  wore  in  these  moments,  in  which  she 
lived  whole  nights  and  days  of  longing  and  expect- 
ancy and  pain. 

As  she  waited,  her  fear,  lest  after  all  something 
should  come  between  her  and  the  child,  grew  into 
a  positive  terror,  and  hardly  knowing  that  she 
prayed,  yet  she  prayed,  dimly  recognizing  as  she 


KATHARINE)   GRAY  97 

stood  there  in  the  shadow  of  the  sanctuary,  that 
God  was  in  the  midst  thereof.  Swiftly  her  agonized 
sense  of  supplication  passed  over  into  the  fierce 
feeling  that  she  could  tear  Ted  and  the  little  shell 
of  a  carriage  into  shreds  if  only  so  her  hands  could 
grasp  the  child.  But  as  her  fury  grew  she  saw 
him  coming.  It  was  too  late  for  caution.  She  had 
borne  enough.  When  she  swept  him  aside  and 
gathered  up  the  child  against  her  heart  and  walked 
on,  he  knew  better  than  to  urge  her  to  stop,  or  to 
take  that  time  to  tell  her  the  story  of  the  day  when 
he  came  to  the  house  to  which  he  had  traced  the 
child,  and  asked  for  any  small  job  of  work.  As  it 
chanced  there  was  coal  to  put  in,  and  the  lad  was 
so  quick  and  so  tidy  about  it  that  he  got  not  only 
his  money,  but  a  bit  of  dinner,  and  a  sight  of  the 
little  child,  though  he  dared  not  show  he  knew  her. 
Baby  that  she  was,  she  knew  him,  and  laughed 
when  he  rattled  the  tin  pan  of  clothespins,  with 
which  the  old  nurse  was  trying  to  have  her  amuse 
herself  that  she  might  get  time  for  her  work.  She 
was  old  and  stiff  with  rheumatism  and  overworked 
and  poor,  and  it  pleased  her  to  see  the  child  pleased. 
And  when  he  asked  for  more  work,  she  told  him 
he  might  come  and  clear  up  the  back  yard,  and  he 
came.  The  next  day  there  was  the  cellar  to  be 
swept,  and  a  bit  of  the  back  fence  to  be  mended, 
and  kindlings  to  split,  and  the  wee  border  to  be  dug 
up  for  the  flowers.  And  every  day  he  saw  the  child, 
and  lately  he  had  been  allowed  to  take  it  out  to 
ride,  borrowing  the  carriage  of  the  grocer  on  the 
corner,  whose  baby  had  outgrown  it  and  who  let 
him  have  it  for  a  nickel  an  hour. 


98  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

Dropping  the  curtain  of  the  carriage  that  no  one 
might  see  the  baby  was  not  there,  he  followed  the 
mother  as  she  strode  off  in  the  sunlight,  so  strong 
in  her  new  sense  of  triumphant  possession  that  it 
mattered  little  whether  the  boy  who  followed  her 
was  friend  or  foe.  Let  them  come,  all  of  them,  now ; 
her  husband,  his  father,  his  mother,  yes,  even  her 
dead  sister,  with  her  pleading,  questioning  face  and 
sorrowful,  haunting  eyes.  All  these  had  had  their 
hour.  Now  her  hour  had  come,  and  in  the  fierce- 
ness of  her  joy,  she  was  dauntless  before  sting  of 
conscience  or  memories  or  fears. 

Ted  watched  her  until  he  saw  her  hail  a  passing 
cab.  She  waited  a  moment  as  he  pressed  forward 
to  her  side.  "  Come  in  quickly,"  she  said.  "  Leave 
the  child's  wagon  and  come." 

"  I  cannot,  miss,"  Ted  answered,  falteringly,  di- 
vided between  his  fear  of  dishonesty  and  his  fear 
that  she  was  going  away  with  the  child  where  he 
would  never  see  them  again.  She  looked  so  fierce 
and  strong,  there  was  no  guessing  what  she  might 
do.  For  one  miserable  moment  he  halted.  Then 
he  said,  falteringly,  "  I  must  not,  miss,  I  must  not. 
I  have  hired  the  wagon.  I  must  take  it  back  and 
pay  the  man  his  money." 

She  gave  him  one  withering  glance.  "  Go  on," 
she  said  to  the  driver,  and  the  poor  little  disciple  of 
honesty  and  honor  stood  and  watched  the  cab  out 
of  sight,  with  eyes  full  of  disappointed  tears.  Then, 
trundling  his  little  wagon  back  to  the  grocer,  he 
paid  him  his  nickel,  and  with  a  curious  look  of  age 
upon  his  bright,  boyish  face  walked  slowly  away  to 
his  home  as  dejectedly  as  if  he  had  found  life  not 


KATHARINE   GRAY  99 

worth  living,  since  out  of  it  had  gone  what  gave  it 
its  sunshine  and  its  joy.  Yet  he  had  been  working 
weeks  to  bring  about  what  had  happened,  to  find 
and  bring  her  back  her  child.  Why  should  he  feel 
defrauded  now  because  both  had  gone  out  of  his 
life  ?  Yet,  might  she  not  have  remembered  to  look 
back  once,  recognizing  that  he  too  was  bereft  ? 

He  heard  that  organ  music  too,  as  he  went  back 
alone  and  caught  the  last  strain  of  the  hymn,  and 
lifted  his  eyes  a  moment  to  the  cross  on  the  high 
church  tower,  and  made  its  sign  on  his  faded  jacket. 
Brave,  tender  boy  soul !  It  had  truth  and  honor 
and  honesty  and  love  enough  for  sacrifice,  and  so  it 
was  a  living  temple,  a  sanctuary,  and  "  God  was  in 
the  midst." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEN  Ted  reached  home  he  found  the  house  in 
direst  confusion,  and  his  mother  in  a  state  of 
almost  hilarious  excitement.  In  other  days  she 
would  have  fallen  summarily  upon  the  lad  in  penalty 
for  his  long  absence,  making  his  legs  tingle  with  a 
switch  and  his  ears  tingle  with  the  lashings  of  her 
tongue.  But  she  had  learned  her  lesson,  and 
tempered  her  reproofs  with  kindness,  though  she 
broke  forth  with,  "  It's  aisy  enough  for  yez  to 
go  and  play  all  day  in  the  strate  and  lave  yer  old 
mither  to  be  prancin'  early  and  late  to  impty  the 
place." 

"  But  what  does  it  mean,  mother  ? "  he  asked,  as 
he  lifted  the  child  from  the  washtub,  in  which  the 
ingenious  woman  had  deposited  her  to  keep  her  out 
of  harm's  way. 

"  Lave  the  baby  alone,  lad,  and  give  me  a  lift  wid 
the  work.  Bad  luck  to  yez  for  gittin'  oot  er  the 
house  before  iver  me  lady  came  with  the  good  news. 
It's  goin'  to  live  in  the  country  we  are,  and  there's 
grass  and  plenty  of  buddin'  things,  and  chickens 
and  ducks,  like  in  Ireland  ;  and  I'm  to  be  cook  and 
maid  of  iverything,  and  we're  goin'  as  fast  as  iver  we 
can,  and  niver  comin'  back  from  the  swate  smilin' 
country  to  this  wicked  old  city  no  more.  And 
there's  a  garden,  lad,  and  pertaties  to  grow,  and  niver 
no  more  thavin'  craythurs  around  a  stalin'  of  babies. 

100 


KATHARINE   GRAY  IOI 

And  ye' re  to  go  too,  Ted,  ye  plague  av  me  loife. 
There's  no  gettin'  rid  of  yez,  ye  bad  pinny.  Off 
all  day  and  me  that  fond  of  ye  that  I've  no  heart 
to  give  yez  a  shpankin'  or  ask  ye  wheriver  ye  \vint. 
Howly  Pether  !  spake  a  word,  boy,  can't  ye  ?  Ye 
make  me  feel  all  quare-like,  as  I  do  whin  the  Sisters 
comes  shtalin'  in  so  still,  wid  the  white  bands  on 
their  heads,  as  if  they  was  jest  let  out  er  their 
graves  to  ask  we  poor  widdies  for  money." 

But  Ted  put  down  the  baby,  and  met  her  excite- 
ment with  his  boyish  face  so  pale  and  grave  that 
her  overflow  of  words  stopped  suddenly  in  the 
midst. 

"  I  see,  mother ;  Mrs.  Gray  is  meanin'  to  lave  all 
at  once  now,  and  ye  are  meanin'  to  go  wid  her." 

"  And  yerself  too,  Teddy ;  I'll  not  lave  me  dar- 
lin'  only  blissin'." 

"  Yes,  I'll  go  with  you,  mother.  Maybe  I'll  find 
Work  near  you.  Niver  mind  now,"  he  added,  as 
she  held  out  her  arms,  suggestive  of  motherly  hugs. 
"  I'll  be  off  and  do  what  nades  to  be  done." 

And  though  it  was  true  that  his  mother  had 
"  pranced  "  to  and  fro  all  day  in  the  midst  of  her 
household  gods,  it  was  Ted  who  made  his  mother 
take  the  child  and  go  over  to  Katharine,  telling  her 
he  knew  she  needed  to  be  taken  care  of,  and  that 
only  Biddy  could  do  it.  "  Kindle  the  fire,  mither, 
and  make  her  a  bit  to  ate." 

"  But  how'll  I  be  lavin'  me  duds  here  ? " 

"  Lave  it  to  me,  mither." 

"  But  ye'll  get  no  bit  or  sup  for  yersilf." 

"  I'll  not  be  neglectin'  me  own  flesh  and  blood. 
If  ye  don't  go  ye'll  be  losin'  a  sight  of  our  own 


103  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

baby,  mother.  She'll  not  be  shtoppin'  in  town  now 
she's  got  it,  I  tell  ye  shure." 

"  Ye  decavin'  thafe  of  a  son.  If  it  wasn't  for 
me  promise  on  me  beads,  I'd  not  lave  a  bone  in  yer 
body.  Why  didn't  ye  tell  me  she  had  the  blessid 
angel  back  again  ?  "  and  taking  her  fiery  plaid  shawl 
on  one  arm,  and  the  little  child  in  the  other,  she 
was  off  downstairs  in  a  minute. 

With  the  kind-hearted  voluble  old  creature  out  of 
the  way,  Ted  showed  the  stuff  that  was  in  him. 
He  flew  downstairs,  into  the  baker's  and  the 
grocer's,  with  an  order  to  send  quickly  a  few  sup- 
plies to  Mrs.  Gray's  room.  Seizing  an  old  bit  of 
carpet,  he  wrapped  the  little  oil  stove,  and  placed 
it  in  the  bottom  of  a  box  with  the  teapot,  a  few 
utensils,  and  on  the  top  one  dainty  cup  and  saucer 
for  the  lady.  A  nickel  or  two  to  a  lad  from  the 
street  to  help  him  carry  the  burden,  which,  deposited 
at  Katharine's  door,  he  was  off  again.  Some  in- 
stinct of  loving  kindness  revealed  to  him  that  the 
poor  woman  must  be  brought  down  from  her  exalted 
state  of  excitement  and  be  made  conscious  of  com- 
mon needs,  and  he  felt  intuitively  that  the  sound 
of  his  mother's  talk,  and  the  sight  of  the  other  child 
would  help  to  bring  this  about.  Feeling  too,  that 
the  fewer  people  who  knew  of  the  children's  pres- 
ence the  better,  he  desired  to  get  his  mother  away 
before  he  brought  a  man  from  the  second-hand 
shop  across  the  street  to  set  a  value  on  the  house- 
hold effects  that  must  be  left  behind.  Anxious  to 
secure  every  dollar  possible  for  his  mother,  he  yet  put 
an  end  to  the  haggling  over  the  price  for  each  old  tub 
and  chair,  by  offering  all  together  at  a  very  low  rate, 


KATHARINE   GRAY  103 

provided  the  man  would  send  his  wagon  and  have 
everything  out  of  the  house  in  two  hours,  except 
the  beds,  which  he  thought  might  be  needed  for  the 
night,  and  which  could  be  given  up  with  the  oil 
stove  in  the  morning. 

Two  hours  later  the  rooms  were  cleared  and 
swept,  the  boxes  packed  to  go  ;  his  best  suit,  his 
mother's  Sunday  gown,  and  such  other  things  as  he 
thought  a  journey  needed,  ready,  and  the  bed  wait- 
ing for  Biddy  to  rest  for  one  night  more.  Then 
after  an  old-fashioned  scrub,  and  a  vigorous  brush- 
ing of  his  curly  hair  and  his  clothes,  he  went  over 
to  see  the  "  family  "  which  seemed  to  have  fallen 
into  his  hands. 

As  he  hoped,  without  really  knowing  it,  the 
atmosphere  was  less  tense  and  strained,  the  little 
girls  both  fed  and  fast  asleep,  looking  enough  alike 
as  they  lay  on  the  bed  to  have  been  the  children  of 
one  mother. 

The  remains  of  the  rolls,  and  jelly  and  eggs,  and 
the  jar  of  potted  meat  were  still  on  the  table,  and 
the  little  oil  stove  was  burning  to  keep  the  coffee 
hot  for  him. 

Katharine  was  very  quiet,  though  the  intense 
light  still  burned  in  her  eyes,  which,  even  while 
she  worked,  turned  constantly  to  the  bed,  as  if  to 
make  sure  her  child  was  really  there. 

If  Theodore  had  been  a  tender  woman  he  could 
not  have  been  more  tactful  or  self-effacing  in  this 
long  day's  work ;  if  a  strong  man  he  could  not  have 
been  more  prompt,  practical,  and  efficient ;  but  in 
the  way  that  he  now  fell  upon  his  supper  after  he 
was  assured  that  Mrs.  Gray  and  his  mother  had 


IO4  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

been  fed,  he  was  simply  and  only  a  boy.  The  things 
that  were  dearest,  that  he  thought  might  go  out  of 
his  sight  forever  were  here,  and  on  these  he  feasted 
his  eyes  and  his  heart.  As  for  his  tired  body  it  en- 
joyed the  supper  as  he  never  remembered  to  have 
enjoyed  a  meal  before. 

Exultant  and  excited  as  she  was,  Katharine  had 
been  very  cautious  in  her  preparations.  She  had 
been  driven  straight  to  the  railway  station  and  dis- 
missed the  cab.  She  had  made  all  inquiries  and 
purchased  tickets,  and  then  made  the  way  back  by 
the  street  cars  to  her  lodging,  where  Biddy  found 
her  sitting,  dumbly  gloating  over  the  child.  But 
Biddy's  voluble  delight  and  noisy  preparation  of  the 
supper  seemed  to  arouse  her,  and  she  went  on  hur- 
rying things  into  the  trunk,  gathering  and  folding 
with  one  hand  while  she  kept  the  child  constantly 
in  her  arms  as  if  she  feared  she  might  disappear  if, 
even  for  one  moment,  she  let  her  go. 

"There's  one  thing  more  to  be  done,''  she  said, 
pausing  suddenly  in  her  restless  walk  about  the 
room. 

"And  what  is  me  Teddy  made  for  but  to  do  it 
for  yez  ?  "  said  Biddy. 

Teddy  sprang  from  the  table,  and  seizing  his 
Scotch  cap,  stood  before  her,  twirling  the  ribbons 
in  his  fingers. 

Up  to  this  time  Katharine  had  not  met  his  eyes. 
Under  all  her  pain  and  triumph  ran  a  consciousness 
of  shame  at  having  taken  her  treasure  from  the 
hands  of  this  lad,  and  fled  away  with  not  so  much 
as  a  thought  or  care  of  what  might  be  the  result  to 
him.  But  now  his  clear  eyes  smiled  up  to  her  with 


KATHARINE   GRAY  105 

such  forgiving  eagerness  that  she  forgave  him  too, 
for  the  prick  of  conscience  which  his  very  presence 
brought.  He  loved  her,  brave  little  faithful  soul, 
and  for  one  moment  she  was  enough  like  the 
woman  she  ought  to  have  been,  the  woman  God 
meant  she  should  be,  to  recognize  the  beauty  and 
nobleness  of  such  a  love  and  to  wish  that  she  herself 
could  love  something  besides  her  own  will  and  way 
and  the  child  that  seemed  to  have  absorbed  the 
power  to  recognize  the  claim  of  any  other  human 
soul. 

She  answered  Ted's  eager  look  by  sending  him 
to  the  office  for  letters.  She  had  received  some 
funds  from  her  sister's  man  of  business  before  she 
left.  She  expected  more.  She  expected  too,  a  line 
from  the  aunt  in  Washington  to  say  if  Deborah 
had  arrived  safely.  And  Ted  came  back  with  these, 
but  with  another  letter  also,  from  her  husband's 
mother,  Mrs.  Gray.  She  knew,  of  course,  the  place 
of  Katharine's  early  home.  She  had  read  the  letter 
to  the  sister,  which  her  husband  had  committed  to 
the  flames.  She  knew,  because  Robert  told  her, 
that  Katharine  was  gone,  and  her  natural  inference 
was  that  she  had  gone  to  the  sister's  home.  If  she 
could  only  be  made  to  stay  there.  In  this  hope  she 
had  written. 

"  My  son  has  told  me  of  your  departure,  without 
his  knowledge  or  sanction,  for  some  place  unknown. 
Naturally  I  infer,  indeed  I  hope,  you  have  gone  to 
your  own  relations,  and  therefore  I  shall  send  this 
letter  to  your  early  home. 

"  Your  husband  tells  me  he  has  been  forced  to 


106  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

place  his  child  under  proper  protection,  since  your 
desertion  of  him  implies  desertion  of  your  little 
daughter  also."  Katharine's  lips  curled  and  her 
eyes  blazed  angrily  as  she  read.  "  Robert  could 
not  bring  the  child  here,  as  his  father  would  not  be 
willing  to  receive  her,  neither  would  I,  indeed,  un- 
less you  would  agree  to  relinquish  all  claim  upon 
her,  and  allow  us  to  bring  her  up  in  our  own  home 
and  as  our  own  child.  If  you  will  consent  to  this, 
we  will  have  her  come  to  us  at  once,  and  you  need 
have  no  further  anxiety  as  to  her  proper  rearing  or 
support,  or  as  to  an  ample  provision  for  her  in  the 
event  of  our  death.  My  son  Robert,  notwithstand- 
ing the  unhappiness  of  his  married  life,  which  has 
told  terribly  upon  his  health,  will  agree  to  relinquish 
all  claim  upon  your  future  consideration  if  you  re- 
sign the  child  to  his  care.  He  is  to  leave  in  a  very 
few  days  for  San  Francisco,  and  will  take  a  voyage 
around  the  world  to  recover  his  shattered  health, 
and  to  find,  if  possible,  in  change  and  travel  some 
consolation  for  his  broken  life.  His  father  has  con- 
sented, in  view  of  all  he  has  suffered,  to  give  him 
the  opportunity  to  travel  for  his  firm,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  he  will  be  able  to  support  both  himself 
and  his  child.  He  agrees  with  me  that  you  would 
be  wise  to  consent  to  this  plan,  since  it  would  be 
useless  for  you  to  expect  or  attempt  to  find  or  to 
gain  possession  of  the  child." 

Katharine's  face  added  a  sneer  to  its  look  of 
scorn  and  rage,  but  she  read  the  letter  all  through 
and  then  said  quietly,  "  Teddy,  I  intended  to  wait 
till  morning,  and  leave  at  the  same  time  but  by  an- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  107 

other  train  than  that  which  would  take  your  mother 
and  yourself.  Now  I  have  decided  to  go  to-night 
by  the  Michigan  Central.  You  will  come  in  the 
morning  by  the  Grand  Trunk.  I  shall  join  you  on 
the  train  at  Detroit,  and  we  shall  go  down  through 
Canada  together.  You  are  not  to  look  for  me ;  I 
shall  come  to  you  on  the  train.  I  shall  put  the 
money  and  tickets  in  your  care,  and  you  will  bring 
your  mother  and  the  child  safely  ?  " 

There  was  no  time  for  many  or  tender  farewells. 
She  came  back  once  from  the  door  and  bent  a  mo- 
ment over  her  sister's  child,  and  in  the  dim  light  it 
seemed  to  her  overstrained  imagination  like  her 
sister's  own  white,  pathetic  face,  as  it  gazed  up  to 
her  own  from  the  pillow  the  night  before  she  died. 
"Take  care  of  her,  Theodore,"  she  cried.  "I 
ought  not  to  leave  her,  I  know,  but  I  cannot,  I 
dare  not  wait  another  night.  They  will  miss  my 
child  and  take  her  from  me  before  I  can  get  away." 

"  And  why  wouldn't  we  all  be  comin'  along  wid 
yez  ? "  asked  Teddy,  as  the  old  terror  lest  the  two 
should  go  away  beyond  his  reach  came  sweeping 
back  in  full  force.  "  I  could  bring  both  the  childer 
for  yez." 

"  But  that  must  not  be.  We  should  be  followed 
and  traced  more  readily  if  we  were  together.  If 
1  am  pursued  it  means  -  '  she  paused  and  her 
voice  choked — "it  means — death  to  me  or  to — . 
some  one  else.  If  you  are  followed  no  one  can 
hurt  you,  for  no  one  wants  to  take  away  that  child  ; 
but  you  will  take  care  of  her  for  me,  Teddy,  as  if 
she  were  my  own." 

And  two  hours  later  Katharine  lay  with  wide- 


108  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

open,  staring  eyes,  behind  the  curtains  of  her 
sleeper,  with  the  window  shade  raised  high,  so  that 
in  the  moonlight  she  could  watch  the  spectral 
shadows  of  the  trees  and  rocks,  as  they  swept  in 
swift  procession  across  the  face  of  her  sleeping 
babe. 

And  two  hours  later,  as  Biddy  lay  sleeping  in 
her  own  bed,  with  a  child  beside  her,  and  Teddy, 
tired  with  such  an  exhausting  day  as  he  had  never 
known  before,  lay  fast  asleep,  rolled  in  the  remnants 
of  an  old  quilt,  there  came  hurried  and  heavy  steps 
up  the  stairs,  ancf  a  pause  on  the  floor  below,  the 
floor  now  vacant,  but  that  had  been  the  home  of 
the  Gray  family  before  Katharine  went  away. 

Stupid  with  sleep  as  he  was,  the  lad  heard  it, 
and  raising  himself  on  his  elbows,  his  eyes  shining 
like  stars,  he  listened.  He  had  heard  Robert  Gray's 
step  on  that  staircase,  as  he  came  home  more  or 
less  tipsy,  too  many  nights  not  to  know  it  now. 
The  other  step  was  new,  but  the  voice,  yes,  it  was 
that  of  the  policeman  who  knew  them  all,  and  who 
had  helped  Robert  home  to  bed  more  than  once 
long  ago.  In  a  minute  Teddy  saw  the  situation, 
and  chided  himself  for  letting  his  mother  come 
back  there  to  sleep.  But  Biddy  had  wailed  that 
it  was  her  home,  and  the  last  night  she  iver  would 
see  it,  and  she  would  trust  no  boy,  "  not  aven  Ted, 
to  '  see  the  last  of  it,  and  make  sure  that  all  was  not 
behind  that  should  have  been  attinded  to  before.' 
I'll  not  be  lavin'  it  all  ends  fustward,  Ted.  Its  da- 
cent  and  clane  I  lived  in  it,  and  dacent  and  clane 
I'll  lave  it."  And  so,  much  against  his  will,  he  had 
brought  them  home  to  sleep.  And  here  they  were, 


KATHARINE   GRAY  IOQ 

and  he  was  to  be  arrested  for  "shtaling"  a  baby, 
and  here  was  the  baby  to  prove  it,  and  he  would  be 
sent  to  prison,  and  the  two  childer,  for  wasn't  his 
mither  just  anither  baby  whin  it  came  to  good 
sinse,  to  be  left  to  the  cowld  world,  and  Katharine 
gone,  and  his  own  swate  baby  gone  out  of  his  soight 
intirely.  He  crept  out  of  his  quilt  and  stood  with 
the  door  ajar.  The  door  below  was  open  and  the 
voices  loud. 

"  You  see  there's  no  one  here,  Mr.  Gray,"  said 
the  policeman. 

"  But  the  boy  brought  the  child  here,"  said 
Robert's  voice.  "  It's  all  a  plan.  The  mother  is 
in  the  city,  she  sent  the  boy  to  steal  this  child.  He 
brought  a  child  here  to-night.  He  has  it  upstairs 
now." 

'•  But  I  tell  you  the  old  woman  and  the  boy  are 
gone,  and  all  their  goods  gone  too,  packed  off  this 
afternoon." 

"  I'll  go  up  and  see,"  and  the  tread,  uncertain, 
unsteady  from  drink,  moved  through  the  lower 
hall. 

Quick  as  a  flash  the  boy  lifted  the  sleeping  child 
from  the  bed  to  the  tattered  quilt,  and  holding  her 
tenderly,  he  sprang  to  the  window  that  opened  from 
the  tiny  kitchen  on  to  the  fire-escape.  Holding 
fast  with  one  hand,  he  descended  backward  iron 
step  after  iron  step,  to  the  landing  below.  The  win- 
dow there  was  unfastened.  He  listened — the  steps 
were  already  on  the  upper  stair.  A  second  more 
and  they  would  rouse  his  mother,  who  had  the 
power  of  sleeping  through  a  cyclone.  There  would 
be  a  noise  he  knew,  and  in  a  minute  it  came,  a 


110  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

whirlwind  of  angry  talk,  and  under  cover  of  it  he 
softly  lifted  the  window  and  passed  in  and  through 
Katharine's  old  rooms  and  out  and  away  down  the 
stairs.  She  had  bidden  him  take  care  of  this  child, 
and  he  had  said  nothing,  but  had  taken  the  new 
trust  as  he  had  taken  the  old.  He  would  put  her 
in  a  safe  place  and  be  back  again  in  a  minute  to 
help  his  mother,  though  she  had  stolen  no  children, 
and  even  if  they  cared  to  arrest  her,  he  could  trust 
to  her  making  it  a  very  slow  process  to  get  her 
away.  Full  of  these  thoughts,  he  ran  out  into  the 
street  and  around  the  corner,  into  the  other  house 
and  up  to  the  room  vacated  by  Mrs.  Gray.  The 
child  had  awakened  but  had  not  cried  until  now. 
Now  she  fretted,  and  poor  little  Ted  had  the  worst 
twenty  minutes  of  his  life  between  his  longing  to 
get  back  to  his  mother  and  his  desire  to  soothe  the 
little  motherless  thing  that  clung  to  him,  yet  would 
not  be  trotted  or  rocked  or  coaxed  or  sung  to  sleep. 
He  felt  little  enough  like  singing,  but  he  sang,  and 
little  enough  like  whistling  and  little  enough  like 
dancing,  yet  he  whistled  and  danced,  but  all  of  no 
avail.  The  child  was  happy  in  his  arms,  but  cried 
if  he  put  her  down  ;  yet  over  yonder  was  that  other 
gray-haired  child  fighting  tooth  and  nail  no  doubt, 
probably  telling  all  she  ought  not,  and  wild  with 
loss  of  himself.  As  he  was  about  to  start  back 
again,  baby  in  arms,  to  face  the  worst,  he  saw  on 
the  table  the  remains  of  his  supper.  Oh,  happy 
discovery !  Here  was  milk  and  bread.  In  two 
minutes  he  was  pouring  the  milk  in  most  unhygi- 
enic haste  down  the  child's  throat,  and  joyful  re- 
sult, the  little  thing  seemed  satisfied,  and  cuddling 


KATHARINE  GRAY  III 

down  in  his  arms,  let  herself  be  rocked  and  sung 
to  sleep. 

Ted  never  knew  how  he  got  around  the  corner, 
but  he  found  his  mother  sitting  on  the  bedside  in 
her  red  flannel  short-gown  and  petticoat,  nightcap 
awry,  her  round  head  shining  like  a  billiard  ball,  a 
broom  in  one  hand  and  one  of  her  broad-soled  shoes 
in  the  other.  Instead  of  wailing  for  her  lost  boy 
she  was  laughing  till  the  tears  streamed  down  her 
cheeks. 

"  And  is  it  alive  ye  are  ? "  said  Ted,  rushing  to 
embrace  her. 

"  Alive  it  is,  me  boy  ?  It's  alive  and  that  aisy 
in  me  moind.  I've  done  what  I've  wanted  to  do 
this  mony  a  month,  and  what  his  own  mother  ought 
to  have  done  whin  he  was  a  boy.  Sure  enough, 
would  I  lave  him  alone  whin  he  came  tumblin' 
straight  over  me  knees  ?  " 

"  Mother,  mother  !  "  said  Ted,  "  are  you  crazy  ? 
What  has  happened  ?  Did  Mr.  Gray  and  the  police- 
man come  here  ? " 

"  Bade  and  they  did,  intered  without  aven  knock- 
in'  at  the  door  and  say  in'  '  by  yer  lave.'  I  was  a 
shlapin'  and  a  snorin'  whin  the  officer  he  said  he 
had  come  to  take  you  and  the  baby.  And  I  rached 
me  hand  down  onto  the  place  where  ye  was  Joy  me 
side  whin  I  wint  to  slape,  and  ye  wasn't  there  at 
all,  at  all,  and  I  whopped  me  arm  over  to  the  place 
where  I  left  the  baby,  and  the  baby  wasn't  there 
aither,  and  thin,  Tiddy,  ye  think  yer  mother's  got 
no  sinse,  but  if  I've  none  its  because,  bein'  me 
only  son  and  yer  poor  father  blowed  into  smith- 
ereens, I've  bestowed  me  extra  sinse  on  yerself. 


112  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

But  I'd  enough  not  to  howl  and  scrache  for  yez  for 
I  knew  what  long  ears  ye  had  me  darlin'  donkey  of 
a  Ted  !  And  I  was  sure  ye  heard  'em  a  comin'  and 
had  scud  away  yerself  and  the  baby,  lavin'  yer  ould 
mother  to  fight  it  alone." 

"No,  no,  mother,"  Ted  began.  "I  was  coming 
again— 

"  Howld  yer  whist  noo,  Ted.  That  baste  of  a 
Gray  man,  he  shwore,  he  did, — and  I  never  could 
abide  shwarin'  in  the  prisince  of  a  lady, — and  he 
said  he  would  have  ye  in  jail  for  child-shtalin'  and 
he  would  have  the  child,  and  he  made  a  clutch  at 
the  bed  rachin'  over  me  fut  as  I  sat  on  the  bidside, 
meanin'  to  grab  the  child  that  wasn't  there.  And 
bein'  top-heavy  with  the  drink  he  just  tumbled  over 
me  fut  in  the  way  most  convaynient,  and  the  saints 
forgive  me,  I  sayzed  me  shlipper  and  I  hild  him 
down  there  wid  my  hand  that's  so  strong  wid 
wringin'  the  clothes,  and  I  gave  him  such  a 
shpankin',  and  he  a  howlin'  and  a  twistin'  and  me  a 
layin'  it  on  till  I  think  the  shlipper  has  a  big  blister 
on  it  if  it  hasn't  lost  its  sowl  intirely.  I  don't 
know  but  I've  lost  me  own  too  unless  they  bees 
aisy  on  me  in  purgatory,  rememberin'  that  time 
the  blackguard  sint  me  out  in  the  strate  crazy,  be- 
lavin'  ye  was  killed.  Oh,  but  it  was  a  picnic,  and  me 
a  laffm'  and  a  laffin',  wid  the  tears  runnin'  down  me 
face  and  the  perlaceman  sayin',  '  Lave  him  go,  'twas 
'salt  and  battery,'  and  me  pretindin'  'twas  his  at- 
tackin'  myself  in  the  bed  that  was  assault  and  bat- 
tery, and  then  layin'  it  on  to  him  again.  And  thin 
whin  I  let  him  up,  and  his  eyes  a  poppin'  wid  rage, 
didn't  I  look  that  surprised  and  say  '  How  would  I 


KATHARINE   GRAY  113 

know  whin  they  come  into  me  room  in  the  dark  of 
the  night  like  burglars,  and  me  ashlape  that  it 
wasn't  the  perlice  bringin'  home  me  Ted  ? '  And 
I  tould  him  how  it  was  a  rule  av  the  family  iver 
since  ye  was  a  scrap  of  a  lad  that  ye'd  go  to  bid 
shmartin'  if  ye  stayed  out  to  the  middle  av  the 
night.  And  the  perlaceman  wouldn't  arrist  me,  for 
all  the  shpluttering  blackguard  of  a  Gray,  for  makin' 
an  innocint  mistake  and  shpankin'  the  wrong  boy. 
I'm  aisy  in  my  moind  now,  Ted,  and  I'll  go  to  the 
end  of  the  airth  with  me  leddy  ; "  and  she  wiped 
her  eyes  and  settled  her  cap.  "  And  the  perlace- 
man he  asked  me  where  was  me  leddy  ?  And  I  said, 
'  I  don't  know  now.  She  went  aist.'  And,  where 
was  her  little  gurl  ?  and  I  said,  '  I  don't  know  that 
nay  trier,  she  wint  aist  too.'  And  he  said,  where 
was  Ted  ?  and  I  tould  him  I  lift  ye  ashlape,  and 
ye  must  have  shtole  out  after  ye  heard  me  shnorin', 
and  if  it  wasn't  for  me  promise,  I'd  have  tould  him 
that  most  likely  ye'd  get  the  other  shlipper  when  I 
caught  ye  again.  He  was  askin'  me  phat  for  was 
I  movin'  all  me  things  awa'  ?  and  I  towld  him  I 
was  goin'  to  service.  I  was  tired  of  the  suds,  I'.d 
been  long  enouf  thryin  to  make  a  dirthy  old  world 
clane  and  to  straighten  up  the  men  folks  wid  starch, 
that  couldn't  kape  themselves  straight  for  want  of 
a  bit  of  back-bone.  And  thin  he  said,  'hould  me 
tongue  and  get  out  av  the  neighborhood,  and  that 
he  couldn't  answer  for  me  or  Ted,  if  Mr.  Gray 
caught  us  aboot.'  And  I  said,  innocint-like,  I  hoped 
he  wouldn't  again  till  I  got  me  shlipper  mended, 
and  away  he  wint  shakin'  himself  wid  laffin'  till  I 
think  ye'll  foind  his  buttons  all  along  the  shtairs." 

H 


114  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

Notwithstanding  this  signal  triumph  Teddy  felt 
the  importance  of  hastening  their  departure,  and  if 
he  had  known  that  Robert  Gray,  thoroughly  sobered 
for  once,  and  on  his  way  home  to  his  mother, 
white  with  rage,  had  engaged  a  detective  to  watch 
their  every  movement,  he  would  have  waited  till 
morning  with  much  less  peace  of  mind. 

As  it  was  he  knew  no  rest  until  the  train  had 
left  the  bustling,  noisy  city  far  behind,  and  he  could 
see  the  wide  prairies  stretching  on  and  on  until 
they  touched  the  bending  summer  sky.  Then  there 
took  possession  of  him  a  growing  sense  of  freedom 
and  the  long  strain  of  weeks  relaxed.  He  dared  to 
let  himself,  boy-like,  look  forward  to  his  meeting 
on  the  morrow  with  the  two  who  filled  so  many  of 
his  dreams. 

The  Widdy  Biddy  seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of  in- 
ward satisfaction,  with  a  gratified  sense  of  import- 
ance. She  was  most  assiduous  in  her  attentions  to 
the  child,  and  her  air  to  Theodore  would  have  become 
a  great  lady  traveling  in  grandeur,  to  her  courier  or 
valet  de  place.  She  kept  him  so  busy  as  to  hardly 
allow  his  little  soul  its  look  at  the  sky  and  its  day- 
dream of  what  was  yet  to  come.  In  those  dreams 
was  always  Katharine  to  whom  the  little  fellow 
had  transferred  all  he  had  been  taught  to  feel 
toward  Mary,  the  Mother  of  Sorrows.  And  there 
was  foremost  always,  the  child  that  had  come 
to  be  the  object  of  his  first  boyish  chivalry.  And 
here  was  this  little  motherless  stranger  to  whom 
his  heart  went  out  pityingly  with  a  full  accept- 
ance of  the  fact  that  he  must  care  for  and  pro- 
tect her  too.  His  love  and  loyalty  to  Katharine 


KATHARINE  GRAY  115 

were  unbroken,  but  his  faith  had  had  a  blow  and  he 
knew  far  more  than  she  ever  could  guess,  her  real 
feeling  to  her  sister's  child.  While  he  amused  the 
little  Margaret  by  letting  her  have  his  tangle  of 
yellow  curls  to  pull  as  hard  as  ever  she  liked,  one 
would  not  have  guessed  that  under  that  tossing 
hair  was  already  growing  a  consciousness  for  which 
he  had  no  name  and  which  he  could  not  have  de- 
fined, but  that  became  a  conviction  that  he  must 
be  the  one  to  stand  among  them  all,  and  see  that 
no  injustice  and  no  harm  should  come  to  any  one. 
And  all  this  time  there  hung  such  a  shadow  of 
harm  over  this  little  life  as  he  could  not  see  and  as 
his  whole  life,  however  freely  given  in  sacrifice, 
would  have  no  power  to  avert. 

"Watch  them  both,  the  boy  and  his  mother,"  said 
Robert  Gray.  "  Get  some  one  to  follow  them  both, 
if  they  go  different  ways.  If,  at  any  time  they  are 
seen  with  a  child  in  charge,  capture  that  child  at 
all  risks.  I  am  called  to  San  Francisco,  but  re- 
cover the  child,  take  it  to  my  mother,  Mrs.  John 
Gray,  No.  194  Gray's  Terrace.  She  will  see  that 
the  reward  agreed  upon  is  yours."  And  then  he 
had  charged  his  mother  to  be  ready,  for  he  did  not 
think  it  wise  to  delay  his  own  departure  lest  his 
father  refuse  to  receive  the  child  and  withdraw  his 
consent  to  send  him  abroad,  which  had  only  been 
granted  in  response  to  the  importunity  of  his 
mother.  The  indignity  he  had  suffered  at  Biddy's 
hands  was  only  a  new  score  against  his  wife.  He 
wanted  the  child  before  as  a  means  of  renewing 
the  tie  with  his  parents.  He  wanted  her  still,  but 
chiefly  now  to  make  its  mother  suffer.  He  did  not 


Il6  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

know  Katharine  had  been  in  Chicago.  He  had 
been  informed  by  the  old  nurse  of  the  child's  dis- 
appearance ;  he  had  known  the  boy  from  the 
nurse's  description  ;  had  refused  to  pay  the  good 
woman  for  the  care  of  the  child  ;  and  had  concluded, 
notwithstanding  the  seeming  solitude  of  Widow 
Burke,  that  the  child  and  her  son  were  in  hiding 
and  that  all  would  go  away  together.  He  would 
not  delay  his  own  journey.  Indeed,  he  preferred 
to  have  the  child  come  when  he  would  escape  dis- 
cussion and  conditions  with  his  father.  He  had 
accepted  one  condition,  that  he  should  travel,  and 
work  while  he  traveled.  If  he  failed  to  do  the 
work  by  any  "  bad  luck " — he  always  called  his 
troubles  "  bad  luck  " — why  the  child  would  be  in 
the  home  when  he  came  back  to  make  such  a  wel- 
come for  him  which  he  might  not  be  able  to  make 
for  himself. 

And  even  while  he  was  beguiling  himself  with 
thoughts  like  these,  his  plan  was  working,  for  the 
man  who  had  taken  his  seat  on  the  train  behind 
Theodore,  the  man  with  a  bald  head  and  a  heavy 
mouth  and  narrow  black  eyes  half  hidden  under 
drooping  lids,  was  one  who  meant  to  earn  the  gen- 
erous reward  which  Robert  had  promised  readily, 
since  it  was  to  be  presented  to  his  mother  for  col- 
lection. 

And  the  day  waned  slowly.  At  many  stations 
passengers  came  and  went.  Ted  jumped  off  with 
the  little  cup  and  ran  to  the  restaurant  for  fresh 
milk  and  always  brought  back  something  for  his 
mother  and  held  the  child  while  she  rested,  and 
got  bits  of  time  for  thinking  his  own  thoughts  be- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  117 

tween.  His  mother  was  nodding  in  her  seat,  the 
child  was  dozing  in  his  arms,  the  boy's  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  a  mass  of  white  clouds  piling  in  castles 
and  towers  against  the  western  sky.  The  train 
was  sweeping  around  a  long  curve  and  on  to  a  lovely 
bridge  whose  slender  span  swung  in  midair  above 
a  brawling  river  sixty  feet  below.  At  one  end  a 
high  trestlework  swarming  with  laborers  showed 
the  bridge  was  undergoing  repairs.  There  was  no 
time  to  wonder  or  to  fear.  For  one  second  the 
train  trembled  and  quivered  like  a  living  thing  in  a 
mighty  spasm  of  horror  and  of  dread,  the  next  it 
shot  forward  like  lightning.  They  were  on  the 
bridge,  and  the  only  chance  with  the  trembling 
swaying  structure  was  to  put  on  all  steam  and  fly, 
as  through  the  air  itself,  to  the  other  end.  An 
awful  shriek  ran  for  one  breath  through  the  car, 
the  next  breath  was  held  in  speechless  horror  while 
parted  lips  tried  in  vain  to  utter  another  sound. 

The  engine  passed  safely,  the  baggage  car  was 
over,  and  the  next  was  one-third  its  length  upon  the 
solid  land.  The  man  in  the  seat  behind  Teddy  had 
rushed  to  the  door.  Close  after  him  crowded  Ted, 
the  baby  in  one  arm,  dragging  his  frantic  mother 
forward  in  spite  of  maddened  men  and  women  who 
would  have  trampled  her  under  their  feet. 

The  detective  sprang  to  the  ground  and  with  the 
impulse  of  fear  turned  to  flee.  Teddy  could  have 
followed  with  the  child,  but  no,  his  mother,  knocked 
and  jostled,  had  been  thrust  aside,  and  two  strong 
men  were  between.  Quick  as  a  flash  he  shouted  to 
the  man  staggering  yet  from  his  jump  : 

"  Quick  !  hold  up  your  arms — save  the  child." 


Il8  THE  TEMPTATION 

He  turned  and  the  child  came  gasping  and 
screaming  against  his  heart.  Half  paralyzed  with 
horror  he  fled  again,  and  Ted,  fighting  madly  for 
his  mother's  life,  sprang  between  the  men,  and 
seizing  her,  by  main  strength  pushed  her  forward. 
The  men  got  off  before  her,  but  Ted  pushed  her, 
and  as  the  car,  drawn  backward  by  the  weight 
that  was  making  the  bridge  sway  and  swing,  went 
down,  down  into  the  whirl  of  waters,  Ted  saw  his 
mother,  unconscious  perhaps,  but  lying  upon  the 
solid  ground. 

They  were  saved  ;  they  were  all  saved,  all  his 
dear  ones  ;  what  matter  if  he  died  ?  But  the  ques- 
tion found  no  answer.  For  one  instant  only,  like  a 
flash  of  golden  sunlight  his  young  head  glanced 
downward  through  the  air.  For  one  instant  a 
bright  spot  glowed  on  the  surface  of  the  now  turbid 
river  and  then  the  black  waters  closed  over  it,  and 
in  the  crowd  that  gathered  above  to  look  down 
upon  that  awful  wreck  there  was  no  one  to  miss  it 
or  to  watch  if  it  ever  came  up  again. 


CHAPTER  IX 

BIDDY,  greatly  bruised  0therwise  as  she  fell,  had 
also  struck  her  head  against  an  iron  portion 
of  the  bridge  and  lay  quite  unconscious  on  the 
ground.  Nor  did  consciousness  return  even  for  a 
moment,  and  after  the  physicians  arrived  they  or- 
dered that  she  be  put  upon  the  train  and  taken  to 
the  hospital  of  the  nearest  city,  Of  all  the  people 
who  had  succeeded  in  escaping  from  the  forward  end 
of  the  car,  one  man  only  reached  the  ground  unin- 
jured. In  his  arms  he  carried  a  little  fair-haired 
frightened  girl,  who  repelled,  with  every  sign  of  re- 
sistance that  her  infant  powers  could  command,  his 
clumsy  efforts  to  soothe  her.  Around  the  station 
was  great  confusion  and  crowds  flocking  from  every 
direction.  There  were  no  ears  for  anything  but 
the  cries  of  the  wounded,  and  no  eyes  for  any- 
thing but  the  tottering  framework  of  the  ruined 
structure,  yet  swaying  in  midair.  Crowds  rushed 
down  the  steep  embankment  at  every  accessible 
point.  Boats  approached  as  if  by  magic  on  every 
side  of  the  wreck,  their  occupants  anxiously  watch- 
ing the  trembling  remains  of  the  bridge  above,  lest 
it  fall  and  bury  still  deeper  the  wounded  human  be- 
ings yet  alive  under  the  broken  train.  All  hearts 
were  bent  on  rescue,  and  a  great  cheer  followed 
every  boat  that  sped  away  toward  the  shore  with  its 
freight  of  the  living  or  the  dead. 

119 


120  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

The  man  with  a  child  in  his  arms  was  hardly  no- 
ticed by  those  hurrying  toward  the  wreck,  and  when 
he  took  his  seat  in  the  relief  train  sent  on  from  the 
nearest  town,  and  the  porter  asked  if  he  was  among 
the  injured,  he  said,  "  No,  I  wanted  to  get  the  train 
the  other  way  and  will  catch  it  at  the  junction." 
And  that  he  did,  dropping  out  quietly  without  ad- 
mitting that  he  had  any  part  in  the  awful  disaster, 
and  taking  a  place  on  the  night  train  to  Chicago. 

Safe  on  the  cars,  though  the  danger  was  over, 
his  trial  was  not  by  any  means  at  an  end.  The  lit- 
tle creature,  tired,  rudely  handled,  and  sleepy, 
fretted  and  cried  incessantly.  To  ferret  out  crime, 
apprehend  criminals,  and  beguile  them  from  their 
hiding  places  in  the  world's  dark  holes  and  corners, 
this  was  work  from  which  the  detective  never 
shrank,  and  in  which  he  very  rarely  failed.  But 
this  child  was  more  than  a  match  for  all  his  inge- 
nuity and  skill.  Not  a  little  shaken  up  nervously 
himself  by  the  danger  and  the  narrow  escape  and 
the  awful  vision  of  the  crashing  train,  he  longed  for 
relief  from  the  crying  child,  or  for  a  respite  long 
enough  for  one  good  soothing  pipe  in  a  corner  of 
the  smoking  car.  Gazing  helplessly  about  while 
the  little  one  squirmed  and  protested  as  only  stif- 
fened baby  backs  and  flying  baby  legs  can  protest, 
against  his  efforts  to  soothe  her  by  trotting  her 
hard  enough  to  set  her  into  fits,  his  eye  fell  upon  a 
boy  about  twelve  years  old,  with  bright  yellow  hair, 
asleep  in  a  seat  near  him.  Almost  in  despair,  he 
held  the  little  girl  so  that  she  could  see  him,  when, 
with  a  wild  struggle  of  hands,  feet,  and  squirming 
body  all  together,  she  scrambled  out  of  his  arms,  and 


KATHARINE   GRAY  121 

toddled  over  to  the  boy,  laid  her  head  confidingly 
against  his  knees,  and  gave  a  triumphant  little 
chuckle  that,  when  the  stranger  would  have  drawn 
her  away,  changed  into  a  defiant  howl. 

The  man  lifted  her  to  a  seat  beside  the  lad,  but 
she  pulled  away  from  him  with  all  her  little  might, 
and  clung  to  the  boy's  jacket.  The  little  fellow 
stirred  uneasily,  and  then  as  if  some  pleasant  dream 
had  come  over  him,  put  out  one  arm  and  laid  it 
gently  over  the  little  girl. 

"  Blest  if  I  don't  believe  the  little  beggar  thinks 
it's  the  other  boy,  the  boy  she's  used  to,"  the  man 
muttered  to  himself. 

From  her  new  shelter  the  bright  eyes  watched 
him  suspiciously.  He  kept  very  still,  and  soon  the 
lids  began  to  droop,  and  in  a  few  minutes  she  was 
fast  asleep.  Now  was  -his  chance,  and  he  was  not 
long  in  making  the  best  of  it.  A  good  smoke,  yes, 
and  a  bit  of  a  nap,  just  forty  winks,  no  more,  he 
thought,  and  he  would  be  back  again. 

Both  were  awake  soon,  and  the  child  astride  the 
lad's  knee,  was  tugging  with  both  hands  at  his  yel- 
low curls,  as  she  had  tugged  only  this  morning  at 
the  bright  young  head  that  had  gone  down  under 
the  waves. 

The  lad  had  waked  to  find  the  little  thing  cling- 
ing to  his  side.  "  She  belongs  to  a  gentleman  who 
has  gone  in  the  smoker.  I  fancy  she's  used  to 
being  with  children  at  home,"  so  one  of  the  passen- 
gers had  said ;  and  when  the  detective  came  back 
to  claim  her,  she  cried  and  resisted,  till  he  was  glad 
to  let  well  enough  alone.  Not  caring  to  emphasize 
too  strongly  his  presence  with  the  child,  and  seeing 


122  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

the  importance  of  concealing  the  fact  that  they  had 
been  on  the  wrecked  train,  he  took  the  stateroom 
and  asked  the  little  fellow  to  come  in  there  and  sit 
with  them.  From  the  boy's  hands  she  took  the 
bread  and  milk  brought  in  from  the  restaurant  of  a 
station,  and  all  went  well  until  when,  on  reaching 
Chicago,  he  put  the  little  girl  on  the  seat  of  the 
carriage,  when  she  shrieked  and  cried  as  if  her  lit- 
tle heart  would  break. 

"  Let  me  go  too,  sir.  She's  crying  for  me,"  said 
the  little  man,  standing  hat  and  satchel  in  hand  at 
the  door  of  the  cab. 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Morrow  hesitated,  then  the 
detective  got  the  better  of  the  man  and  he  said, 
"  No,  shut  the  door  will  you,"  and  when  it  was 
shut,  something  rang  on  the  pavement.  It  was  a 
silver  dollar.  For  one  second,  while  the  driver  was 
climbing  to  his  seat,  the  lad's  heel  came  down  upon 
it  and  ground  it  into  the  dirt.  He  didn't  want  the 
dollar ;  he  wanted  to  go.  The  next  second  he  had 
the  dollar  in  one  hand  and  with  the  help  of  the 
other  had.  swung  himself  up  behind  the  cab  as  it 
drove  away,  and  there  he  sat  until  it  turned  in  be- 
tween the  stone  pillars  at  the  entrance  of  the 
grounds  belonging  to  the  mansion  of  Mr.  Gray. 
From  behind  the  pillar  a  boy's  face  peered  out 
when  the  cab  drove  away,  and  he  knew  where  the 
little  girl  who  clung  to  him  and  cried  for  him  had 
found  her  home. 

Robert  had  not  gone  away  without  sharing  with 
his  mother  all  his  hopes  and  plans  for  securing  the 
child,  nor  had  she  been  idle  in  her  efforts  to  bring 
her  husband's  mind  to  receiving  it.  She  had  per- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  123 

suaded  him  to  give  Robert  another  trial,  partly  by 
the  fact  that  it  would  take  him  away  for  an  indefi- 
nite time.  She  had  used  skillfully  the  fact,  as  she 
believed  it,  of  Katharine's  desertion  of  her  little 
daughter.  She  had  gotten  his  consent  to  write  the 
letter  that  offered  to  take  the  child,  but  she  had 
not  told  him  of  the  fact  that  no  notice  was  taken 
of  the  letter  or  of  the  plan  for  the  little  girl's  cap- 
ture. At  heart,  the  old  man's  outraged  sense  of 
honor  and  honesty  was  strong.  He  would  take  the 
child  if  he  must,  if  it  was  true  the  mother  was  not 
fit  to  care  for  it.  In  the  father's  fitness  he  had  no 
confidence  whatever ;  but  he  would  have  no  under- 
hand dealings,  no  taking  of  the  child  by  strategy  or 
force.  He  justified  Katharine  in  her  efforts  to  get 
the  child,  and  her  desire  to  do  so  was  to  him  an 
evidence  that  she  had  never  meant  to  desert  it. 
Mrs.  Gray  knew  the  stubborn  nature  she  had  to 
deal  with,  and  knew  better  than  to  tell  him  the 
whole  truth.  -She  only  told  him  that  Robert's  wife 
had  resigned  the  child  to  the  care  of  an  old  woman 
who  had  met  with  an  accident  upon  the  railway  and 
could  care  for  it  no  longer,  and  that  Robert  had 
arranged  before  his  departure  to  have  the  little  one 
delivered  to  her  care.  Katharine  had  not  indeed, 
written  that  they  might  have  her,  but  had  really  left 
her  with  those  who  could  no  longer  care  for  her.  And 
with  this  half  truth  the  old  man  had  to  be  content, 
though  he  had  grave  doubts  of  any  transaction  in 
which  Robert  was  concerned.  But  he  was  glad  on 
the  whole  to  know  that  the  child  would  be  cared 
for,  and  gave  his  wife  money  to  pay  just  charges, 
though  not  the  sum  Robert  had  promised.  Still 


124  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

she  dared  not  ask  for  more,  but  added  to  it  from 
household  and  personal  funds,  and  so  was,  at  last, 
in  full  possession  of  the  blue-eyed,  sunny-haired 
little  girl. 

And  while,  that  night,  the  little  traveler  who, 
since  her  mother's  death,  had  been  passed  from  the 
care  of  Deborah  to  Katharine,  from  Katharine  to 
the  Widow  Burke,  from  the  widow  to  her  son,  from 
Ted  to  the  detective,  and  from  the  detective  to  Mrs. 
Gray,  lay  sweetly  sleeping  in  a  luxurious  little 
room,  her  dimpled  limbs  softly  wrapped  in  dainty 
garments  ;  while  Biddy's  bald  head  was  resting  on 
the  hospital  pillow  in  the  unconsciousness  that  was 
so  much  like  death  that  they  doubted  if  she  would 
ever  wake  again,  and  Ted's  bright  curls  were  rest- 
ing no  one  knew  where ;  Katharine  turned  rest- 
lessly on  her  pillow  in  the  sleeper  of  the  train 
going  eastward  from  Detroit.  She  was  very 
weary,  for  the  long  tension  of  weeks  over,  the 
desire  of  her  heart  satisfied,  her  whole  nature 
relaxed  and  sleep  kept  coming,  even  when  she 
had  resolved  to  keep  awake.  Starting  up  sud- 
denly her  hand  groped  always  for  the  child,  to  be 
sure  she  was  still  there,  and  then  busy  thoughts 
began  to  burn  in  her  brain  and  the  noise  of  the 
whirring  wheels  to  repeat  itself  over  and  over  in 
her  head.  This  was  the  train  on  which  Biddy  and 
Ted  and  the  little  Margaret  were  to  come.  She 
had  made  a  mistake,  as  she  saw  now,  in  telling 
them  to  stay  on  the  train  and  that  she  would  join 
them  there.  She  had  done  this  partly  on  account 
of  her  certainty  that  they  would  be  watched,  and 
that  it  was  not  well  to  have  the  two  parties  meet 


KATHARINE  GRAY  125 

in  the  station.  She  had  kept  herself  close  in  her 
room  in  the  little  hotel  on  the  Canadian  side,  that 
she  might  not  attract  observation,  and  had  arrived 
just  as  the  train  was  about  to  start.  Taking  her 
place  at  once,  it  was  not  till  they  were  speeding  fast 
out  of  the  station  that  she  was  able  to  secure  the 
attention  of  a  porter.  He  called  the  conductor, 
who  told  her  he  would  look  for  her  friends,  a  nurse 
and  a  yellow-haired  lad  with  a  child  in  her  charge. 
He  was  long  in  coming  back,  but  she  was  not 
troubled  till  he  returned  with  the  news  that  there 
was  no  such  party  on  board.  "  But  then,"  he  ex- 
plained, "  this  train  runs  in  two  sections  sometimes, 
and  when  the  day  train  from  Chicago  is  late,  this 
first  section  goes  forward  and  the  other  comes  on 
as  soon  as  it  can  be  made  up.  It  will  overtake  us 
at  Toronto." 

And  with  this  she  tried  to  be  content,  though 
she  was  now  very  anxious  about  all  three,  and  in 
the  solemn  night-time  remembered  all  the  devotion 
and  service  of  Biddy  and  the  absolute  self-forget- 
fulness  of  her  noble  boy.  She  remembered  even 
old  Deborah  with  tenderness,  and  her  sister,  with  a 
great  hunger  to  see  her  once  more  and  tell  her  that 
she  would  be  faithful  and  true  forever  to  her  child. 
All  the  terrible  hardness  that  had  possessed  her 
when  she  was  deprived  of  her  own,  seemed  to  van- 
ish now  that  the  breath  of  her  child  was  on  her 
cheek  and  the  little  hand  lying  like  a  blossom  cool 
and  sweet  against  her  heart.  For  this  night  at 
least  the  good  angels  were  hovering  near,  and  love 
and  gratitude  made  her  less  like  some  wild  creature 
robbed  of  its  young,  and  more  like  the  woman  tender 


126  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

and  true  that  it  must  have  been  God's  wish  that  she 
should  be.  In  this  softened  mood  she  blamed  her- 
self for  having  been  so  absorbed  in  her  own  trouble, 
and  she  longed  to  have  again  her  sister's  child,  and 
rejoiced  that  Ted  was  coming  that  she  might  show 
how  much  she  loved  them  all. 

And  upon  this  mood,  as  she  sat  in  her  seat  in 
the  car,  broke  the  news  that  the  second  section 
would  overtake  them  at  the  next  station.  But 
when  it  came  it  brought  no  Biddy  and  no  Ted, 
but  instead  the  news  of  the  terrible  wreck,  a  con- 
fused list  of  the  lost,  and  among  these  "an  Irish 
nurse  having  a  little  girl  in  charge,  and  a  bright- 
haired  lad  who  might  have  been  a  brother  of  the 
little  girl.  The  passengers  had  heard  the  nurse  call 
the  boy  Ted.  Nothing  had  been  seen  of  either. 
They  were  doubtless  lying  with  many  others  at  the 
bottom  of  the  river  beneath  the  ruins  of  the  train." 

Benumbed,  dazed,  she  sat  and  stared  at  the  paper. 
She  hardly  knew  it  when  the  train  moved  out.  She 
had  not  thought  what  she  should  do,  whether  she 
ought  to  go  back  or  if  she  should  go  on.  Before 
she  had  begun  to  think  or  to  do  anything  but  feel, 
she  was  far  on  her  way  eastward,  she  and  her  child, 
her  own  child.  For  one  moment  her  heart  re- 
volted at  her  utter  self-absorption  in  her  own. 
When  Debby  had  wanted  her  sister's  baby,  and  she 
had  wanted  to  use  the  funds  the  child's  care  would 
place  in  her  hands,  she  had  told  Debby  she  must 
keep  her  promise  to  her  sister  not  to  be  separated 
from  her  child  ;  but  when  her  own  was  to  be  con- 
sidered, she  had  not  heeded  the  promise,  but  had 
left  her  to  those  far  less  experienced  than  Debby. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  127 

For  one  brief  moment  God  gave  her  a  glimpse 
of  the  true  significance  of  this  act,  and  she  cowered 
and  shivered  as  she  muttered  in  her  anguish  of 
spirit,  "  I  did  it.  It  was  my  selfish,  wicked  deser- 
tion of  them  all,"  and,  like  Peter  in  the  garden, 
she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  "  wept  bit- 
terly." And  yet  so  subtle  was  the  serpent  of  self, 
that  not  many  hours  passed  before  it  ventured  like 
an  evil  spirit  to  whisper  in  her  ear  that  now  her 
own  child  had  a  chance  of  a  future  like  the  rest. 
The  suggestion  made  her  shudder,  but  she  shut  her 
eyes  and  let  it  be  whispered  again.  There  was  no 
question  now  of  anybody's  sharing  with  her  little 
daughter,  all  would  be  hers  alone.  All  ?  No,  cer- 
tainly not  all.  Lawrence  Wild's  property  would 
go  back,  in  case  of  his  child's  death,  to  his  family. 
The  old  aunt,  Mrs.  Maitland,  would  have  it,  and 
that  which  was  to  come  from  her  of  course  would 
never  now  pass  through  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Gray. 
And  the  little  that  was  left  by  her  own  father — 
that  was  so  very  little  for  such  a  life  as  she  meant 
her  child  to  live. 

Ah,  once  more  the  good  angels,  so  near  in  all 
these  last  hours  that  it  seemed  as  if  they  might  be 
striving  again  to  find  in  her  heart  a  home,  turned 
away  in  sadness  and  in  tears.  Once  more  the  temp- 
tation to  deceit  and  injustice  swept  over  the  soul, 
and  before  the  maddening  whirl  of  the  wheels 
stopped  and  they  had  come  to  a  resting-place  for 
the  night,  the  tempter  was  saying,  "It  was  not  your 
fault.  If  it  had  not  been  for  that  cruel  letter  from 
Robert's  mother  you  would  have  stayed  with  them. 
Why  tell  anybody  at  all  that  the  child  that  is  gone 


128  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

was  not  your  child,  and  that  this  one  is  not  the 
child  of  your  sister  and  the  heiress  of  all  that  was 
waiting  for  her  ?  Who  will  be  benefited  by  her 
being  deprived  ?  Mrs.  Maitland  has  wealth  al- 
ready. Why  condemn  this  young,  sweet  life  to 
poverty  that  the  old  worn  life  may  have  still 
more  ?  "  And  again  and  again  the  evil  spirits  whis- 
pered it,  and  though  she  knew  she  was  incapable  of 
such  a  deed,  yet  she  let  herself  dwell  for  a  little 
upon  what  life  might  have  been  for  her  own  child  if 
wealth  like  that  had  been  bestowed  on  her.  That 
night  she  could  not  sleep,  but  by  morning  she  con- 
sidered no  longer  the  question  of  returning  to  the 
scene  of  the  accident.  Why  should  she  harrow  her 
spirit  more  ?  Already  she  was  nearly  crazed  with 
trouble,  and  somewhere,  somehow,  her  nerves  must 
find  repose.  Yet,  as  she  neared  the  Massachusetts 
home,  her  courage  failed  her.  How  should  she 
meet  the  kind  inquiries,  the  neighborly  offers  of 
company,  the  tongues  and  eyes  from  which  there 
would  be  no  escape,  and,  stronger  reason  still,  how 
could  she  bear  to  live  again  in  the  old  house,  going 
through  the  days  with  eyes  bent  downward,  lest 
from  the  windows  she  should  see  the  gleam  of  the 
churchyard  stones  ?  On  the  other  hand,  she  had 
already  spent  more  money  than  she  had  thought  to 
spend,  or  than  would  seem  to  any  one  compatible 
with  the  care  and  comfort  of  a  child.  She  had 
taken  from  her  sister's  man  of  business  a  larger 
sum  than  she  had  supposed  she  would  need,  but 
she  had  used  it  and  more.  By-and-by  she  would 
have  matters  fully  in  her  own  hands,  but  just  now 
she  did  not  wish  to  subject  herself  to  comment  or 


KATHARINE  GRAY  I2Q 

to  create  any  question  by  making  further  demands. 
Surely  it  would  be  better,  for  a  time  at  least,  until 
her  child  was  older,  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  ques- 
tioning eyes  and  inquisitive  tongues.  She  was 
weary,  heaven  only  knew  how  weary.  There  was 
the  kind  old  Elder  of  the  Shakers  who  had  bidden  her 
come  and  rest ;  and  the  next  night,  just  as  the  sun- 
set was  lighting  the  western  sky  with  glory,  she  sat 
in  the  parlor  of  the  Community  with  her  child  in 
her  arms,  and  heard  the  word  of  welcome  repeated 
and  the  kind  orders  given  for  her  security  and  com- 
fort and  care.  It  was  all  so  genuine,  so  simple, 
and  yet  so  sweet.  The  old  voice  was  like  a  bene- 
diction, the  blessed  stillness  of  the  place  was  like  a 
prayer,  and,  but  for  the  evil  guests  that  had  made 
their  home  in  her  heart,  for  the  first  time  in  many 
years  the  tired  woman  would  have  rested  and  her 
spirit  tasted  peace. 


CHAPTER  X 

T^HERE  was  no  lovelier  spot  in  all  New  England 
I  than  thai  chosen  for  their  home  by  the  Shaker 
Community  of  Loriston.  Wide,  green  valleys, 
sloping  hillsides,  great  stretches  of  woodland  and 
fertile  fields,  perfect  roads,  well-kept  hedges,  and 
all  that  made  the  fairest  environment  for  a  village  of 
long,  low,  unpretentious  buildings.  Thrift  and  plenty 
and  neatness  were  everywhere,  nowhere  a  single 
trace  of  grace  or  adornment.  Not  a  dainty  bit  of 
muslin  at  the  polished  windows,  or  a  vine  climbing 
over  a  lattice,  or  a  green  thing  growing  indoors  as 
in  the  common  New  England  home.  Not  even  a 
cluster  of  clover  blossoms  or  buttercups  to  break 
tb.e  monotony  of  the  long  rows  of  shining  forks 
and  spoons  upon  the  well-filled  board.  The  work 
indoors  and  out  moved  in  orderly  routine,  and  the 
people  seemed  like  parts  of  a  great  smooth-run- 
ning machine.  The  various  groups  of  men  off  to 
the  fields  with  their  shovels  and  hoes,  or  of  women 
filing  away  across  the  yard  to  the  laundry  laden 
with  piles  of  linen,  or  to  the  dairy  bearing  the  shin- 
ing pans  of  milk,  reminded  her  somehow  of  lines 
of  ants  scurrying  away,  each  bearing  its  burden  of 
sand.  To  her  it  seemed  a  community  of  labor 
with  no  communion  of  laborers.  As  the  dull  days 
wore  on  she  became  conscious  that  behind  this  uni- 
form garb  of  blue  overalls  and  blouse,  or  calico 
130 


KATHARINE   GRAY  131 

gown,  fashioned  so  as  to  take  away  all  grace  that 
might  once  have  marked  the  form  beneath,  the 
high  apron  of  the  child,  intended  to  save  the  dress 
all  soil  and  tear,  were  real,  living  men,  women,  and 
children,  with  an  individuality  even  more  marked 
for  the  uniformity  of  personality  and  monotony  of 
life.  She  came  to  know  the  kind  voice  with  its 
ring  of  human  interest,  from  the  apathetic  voice 
that  had  said  long  ago  in  some  past  and  dead  life 
all  it  had  to  say  in  any  human  ear.  She  learned 
to  see  the  twinkling  of  humor  and  sunny  good 
nature  under  the  drooped  lids  of  some  of  the  most 
devout.  She  felt  her  way,  without  a  word  being 
said,  to  the  recognition  of  those  who  were  there 
because  it  was  better  than  the  poorhouse — those 
who  hated  it  but  would  equally  have  hated  any 
other  place  because  of  the  hate  in  their  own  souls — 
those  who,  like  herself,  carried  such  a  heart-burden 
that  they  rejoiced  to  be  where  it  did  not  matter,  if, 
week  in  and  week  out,  they  never  uttered  a  word. 
It  was  a  place  where  human  souls  let  each  other 
alone.  No  conventionality  required  the  utterance 
of  one  unfelt  word,  the  giving  of  one  unwilling  nod 
or  smile.  If  the  daily  task  was  done,  the  times 
and  seasons  of  work  and  worship  regarded,  no  soul 
took  heed  of  what  another  thought  or  loved  or  felt. 
They  were  like  an  army  of  prisoners,  each  one  his 
©r  her  own  jailer,  shutting  their  real  selves  out  of 
sight  altogether,  or  revealing  as  much  or  as  little  as 
they  would.  The  demand  that  in  the  outer  world 
had  made  life  artificial,  forcing  them  to  seem 
bright  if  sad,  agreeable  if  disagreeable,  something 
other  than  themselves  at  their  best  or  worst,  in 


133  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

this  place  ceased  to  exist.  There  were  some  strong 
minds  there  who  had  chosen  the  life  because  they 
could  be  free  to  think  their  own  thoughts  ;  some 
strong  souls  glad  to  be  free  from  the  unconscious 
tyranny  of  smaller  souls.  These  dwelt  in  common 
with  the  crude,  the  coarse,  the  sordid,  or  the  selfish 
nature,  and  yet  they  dwelt,  each  on  its  inward 
height  or  in  its  inward  depth  alone,  and  the  atmos- 
phere around  felt  the  tonic  of  that  upper  or  the 
depression  of  the  lower  air. 

Into  this  peopled  solitude,  into  this  orderly  rou- 
tine Katharine  came,  out  of  the  strain  and  shock  of 
the  moral  and  emotional  conflict  of  her  recent  life, 
and  for  a  little  time  it  seemed  as  if  there  had  set- 
tled upon  her  the  apathy  that  could  not  again  be 
roused  to  hope,  to  struggle,  or  to  fear.  They  tried 
the  method  of  healing  that  is  better  than  medicine 
for  the  sick  or  tired  heart.  They  let  her  entirely 
alone,  to  do  in  every  particular  exactly  as  she 
pleased.  They  even  set  aside  the  rule  that  forbade 
using  the  home  as  a  hotel  except  for  a  temporary 
or  an  invalid  guest.  These  for  a  limited  time 
might  pay  in  money  for  their  care,  but  the  usual 
hospitality  was  for  those  who,  sharing  its  shelter, 
would  also  share  the  common  outward  life  and  take 
some  small  portion  at  least  of  the  daily  burden  ot 
toil. 

Little  children  coming  with  invalid  or  tired-out 
mothers  were  ordinarily  consigned  to  the  care  of 
those  among  the  women  who  were  healthy  and 
gentle  and  loving  and  not  too  old,  while  the 
mothers  were  being  built  up  to  a  point  of  ability 
to  share  the  household  tasks.  But  for  Katharine 


KATHARINE  GRAY  133 

there  was  never  even  a  hint  at  separation  from  her 
child.  The  old  man  at  the  head  of  the  Commu- 
nity understood  her  condition  too  well  to  urge  any- 
thing against  her  will.  He  knew  a  day  would 
come  when  she  would  desire  for  her  child  the  com- 
panionship of  the  little  playmates,  and  trust  her 
little  by  little  to  the  gentle  nurses  and  teachers 
who  had  the  other  children  in  their  charge.  He 
knew  too,  that  her  restless  soul  would  drive  her 
soon  or  late  to  desire  bodily  occupation,  and  that 
there  were  motherly  women  there  to  give  it  when 
most  needed.  And  it  came  about  as  he  had  fore- 
seen, though  for  a  long  time  she  stayed  in  the  place 
where  guests  and  invalids  were  entertained,  coming 
out  gradually  to  where  her  intelligence  and  practi- 
cal knowledge,  her  dainty  deftness  of  hand,  made 
itself  felt  among  the  women  who  allowed  her  to 
guide  and  help,  but  who  never,  one  of  them,  came 
near  enough  to  overcome  the  reserve  that,  under  no 
circumstances,  ever  spoke  of  herself.  This  reti- 
cence was  not  born  altogether  of  her  distrust  of 
those  about  her  ;  it  was  in  good  part  her  distrust  of 
herself  lest,  if  she  yielded  in  the  least  to  the 
natural  human  desire  for  companionship,  she  should 
be  brought  to  some  betrayal  of  her  inward  pur- 
poses and  life.  In  common  with  other  guilty  souls, 
conscious  of  something  to  be  concealed,  she  fan- 
cied that  her  secret  was  suspected,  and  watched 
for  consciousness  of  it  in  other  faces;  fancied  she 
caught  a  sound  in  other  voices  that  echoed  the 
pleadings  that  were  ever  and  ever  ringing  in  her 
heart. 

She  knew  that  other  torment  also  that  comes 


134  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

only  when  souls  in  sinning  outrage  holy  memories, 
saintly  teachings,  and  the  knowledge  of  good  that 
makes  choice  of  evil  a  doubly  deadly  thing.  She 
had  chosen  evil,  but  it  was  not  in  her  power  to  ig- 
nore or  forget  the  good.  As  long  as  she  lived  she 
might  go  on  so  choosing,  but  she  would  also  go  on 
loathing  her  choice  and  herself  and  striving  feebly 
and  probably  vainly  to  cast  the  evil  off.  Even  in 
these  months,  when  she  was  too  deadened  in  spirit 
and  will  to  question  much,  or  to  care  as  to  who  else 
might  be  dead  or  alive,  she  had  sometimes  to  hold 
herself  with  all  her  will  from  going  back  to  the 
scene  of  that  accident  and  searching  for  some  surer 
knowledge  of  the  three  who  had  failed  to  come  to 
her  that  fair  June  day.  There  were  others,  half  a 
score  or  more,  of  whom  there  was  no  record  save 
"missing."  The  river  was  deep  and  wide  and  had 
not  yielded  up  its  dead.  And,  horrible  as  the 
thought  was,  strive  to  drive  it  away  as  she  would, 
the  tempter  kept  saying  to  her  again  and  again  and 
again,  that  it  was  better  for  her  daughter  if  they  all, 
yes,  all,  were  gone.  And  she  answered  every  time 
she  listened,  that  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  their 
going,  and  should  never  profit  by  it ;  and  yet  she 
continued  to  listen  whenever  the  vile  thought  came. 
A  better  voice  came  too,  sometimes  in  the  stillness 
of  the  night,  asking  if  she  could  not  have  risked 
one  night  more  and  defied  her  husband  if  he  had 
come  to  claim  her  child,  and  not  have  fled,  leaving 
her  sister's  little  one  and  the  faithful  old  woman 
and  the  devoted  boy,  inexperienced  as  they  were,  to 
take  their  risks  alone.  It  told  her  she  had  had 
something  to  do  with  it  then ;  and  yet,  though  her 


KATHARINE  GRAY  135 

conscience  whispered  that  it  was  really  murder  in 
her  heart  that  kept  her  from  grieving  that  they 
were  gone,  yet,  except  in  rare  moments,  she  could 
not  and  did  not  grieve.  Yet,  all  this  time  she  never 
said  to  any  one,  not  even  to  the  dear  old  man  who 
had  befriended  her,  that  the  little  girl  was  her  own 
child.  When  she  came  it  was  as  if  from  her  sis- 
ter's home,  and  she  told  him  that  when  he  was  so 
kind  to  her  before,  she  was  on  her  way  to  a  sister 
who  had  since  died  and  left  her  only  child  for  her 
to  bring  up  as  her  own.  She  said  nothing  of  the 
recent  Western  journey,  and  when  he  asked  her  if 
things  were  better  for  her  than  when  he  saw  her 
first,  if  she  had  recovered  from  the  sorrow  that  was 
pressing  on  her  then,  she  answered  : 

"  There  is  a  sorrow  for  which  no  help  can  ever 
come,  and  my  only  chance  of  bearing  it  is  never  to 
speak  of  it ; "  and,  with  the  delicacy  born  of  true 
sympathy,  he  not  only  never  questioned  her  again, 
but  the  curious  ones  of  the  Community,  who  were 
not  altogether  above  desiring  to  know  something  of 
the  new-comers,  never  heard  from  him  that  he  had 
ever  known  anything  save  that  her  sister  had  left 
her  this  little  orphan  child  to  toil  for  and  to  rear. 

And  they  loved  the  child,  every  one  of  them,  old 
and  young,  rough  men  on  whose  knees  she  climbed 
fearlessly  as  they  rested  after  the  labor  of  the  day; 
aged  women  who  snuggled  her  in  their  scrawny  old 
necks  that  had  not  felt  a  child's  kiss  for  many  a 
year :  and  even  the  soured  and  sulky  young  women, 
who  lived  in  the  Community  because  they  had  no- 
where else  to  live  and  felt  the  whole  thing  a  hard- 
ship, and  the  orphan  children  they  had  to  work  for 


136  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

the  greatest  trial  of  all.  Gretta's  little  joyous,  sunny 
face  even  brightened  the  solemn  silence  of  "  the 
meeting,"  for  Katharine  would  not  go  without  her, 
and  the  sunny  presence  reached  to  the  schoolroom 
also,  where  one  reward  of  the  children  for  goodness 
was  to  be  allowed  to  sit  or  walk  beside  sweet  Gretta 
Wild. 

Merry  with  a  merriment  that  ill  suited  the  grave 
quiet  of  the  place,  her  laughter  was  music  to  these 
people  who  had  left  off  laughing  long  ago.  Nobody 
chided  her  childish  faults,  and  the  secret  of  her 
charm  was  the  exceeding  lovingness  that  could  not 
bear  to  let  the  shabbiest  old  soul  among  them  have 
a  discomfort  that  she  did  not  try  to  soothe.  Quick 
to  imitate  all  she  saw,  she  would  run  with  her 
mimic  plaster,  or  her  mullein  leaf  pressed  between 
her  folded  handkerchief  for  a  toothache  or  a  "  crick 
in  the  back."  The  nearest  she  ever  came  to  dis- 
grace was  when,  having  been  to  ride  with  Elder  Os- 
born,  she  had  seen  a  young  man  with  a  rose  in  his 
buttonhole,  and  on  the  next  day  had  carried  her  little 
apron  full  of  daisies  and  clover  and  buttercups  right 
into  the  silence  of  "the  meeting  "  and  proceeded  to 
distribute  them  to  every  solemn  man  who  sat  up- 
right on  the  benches  meditating  on  his  own  frailty 
and  the  goodness  of  the  Almighty.  And  as  the 
little  sunny  head  went  darting  in  and  out  among 
them,  many  a  hard  face  softened,  as  if  there  had 
been  given  them  a  look  or  smile  from  some  sweet 
messenger  of  God.  And  the  child  grew  and  waxed 
strong  while  the  silent  years  sped  on. 

The  long  day's  work  for  the  men  in  the  fields 
and  for  the  women  in  the  house  was  over.  The 


KATHARINE   GRAY  137 

^ 

bountiful  supper  was  followed  by  the  evening  ser- 
vice of  mingled  silence  and  testimony,  and  the 
filing  off  of  the  boys  and  girls  to  their  beds.  In 
the  parlor  of  the  official  house  of  the  Community 
Katharine  sat  on  one  of  the  high-backed  chairs  that 
were  kept  from  scratching  the  polished  floor  by 
little  knitted  socks  drawn  over  the  legs.  Leaning 
against  the  mantle  stood  the  white-haired,  placid- 
faced  Eli  Osborn,  whose  voice  had  uttered,  so  long 
ago  in  Chicago,  the  first  kind  words  that  Katharine 
had  heard  in  many  a  week.  She  could  hear  the  tones 
now,  and  their  kindness  made  it  hard  to  steel  her 
heart  against  his  counsel.  She  let  her  eyes  wander 
out  on  the  wide  fields  of  waving  grass  and  away 
beyond  the  blossoming  trees  to  the  line  of  hills 
slowly  darkening  in  the  summer  night. 

"  I  never  intended  to  remain,"  she  said  ;  "  I  never 
intended  that  Gretta  should  live  the  life  of  your 
people  here." 

"  For  the  world-weary  soul  there  is  no  better 
rest,  my  child,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Here  is  the 
cloister's  silence  and  the  opportunity  for  communion 
with  God  that  leads  to  true  knowledge  of  one's 
self."  Katharine  winced,  but  did  not  take  her  eyes 
from  the  slowly  blackening  hills. 

"And  the  soul  needs  all  that  sometimes,"  he 
added,  "  and  this  place  gives  solitude  of  spirit  with- 
out loneliness  or  that  idleness  that  leads  to  much 
that  is  wicked  or  weak.  It  is,  moreover,  a  life  that 
need  have  no  care  as  to  what  we  shall  eat  or  drink 
or  wherewithal  we  shall  be  clothed." 

"The  last  is  good,"  she  answered,  bitterly. 
"  Only  those  who  have  felt  what  it  is  not  to  know 


138  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

where  the  next  morsel  for  a  loved  one  is  to  come 
from,  know  how  to  value  that.  But  I  did  not  come 
here  with  any  thought  to  stay.  It  was  a  refuge. 
God  knows  I  have  had  enough  of  what  you  call  the 
world  to  be  glad  to  hide  from  it  forever  for  myself ; 
but  this  girl  must  have  her  chance  at  life." 

"To  what  good  ?"  he  asked,  gently.  "  It  means 
only  strife  and  suffering  and  agitation  and  more  of 
anguish  than  joy  ;  and  in  the  end  it  comes  to  the 
same  hunger  for  repose." 

"  Yes,  in  the  end  the  longing  for  repose,"  she  re- 
peated. "But  first  it  means  life — the  use  of  all 
one's  faculties,  the  training  of  all  one's  powers, 
the  being  and  doing  and  feeling  all  that  makes  life 
worth  living.  No,  no,  I  might  stay  gladly  till  I 
died  within  the  white  walls  of  yonder  little  cham- 
ber that  has  indeed  been  to  me  as  much  a  refuge 
as  ever  was  convent  cell ;  but  for  the  girl  I  must 
make  broader  conditions,  other  associations.  She 
must  have  life,  and  by-and-by  when  she  wearies  of 
it,  let  her  come  back  if  she  will ;  I  know  the  doors 
would  never  be  shut  against  her  while  you  lived." 

"  No,  nor  after  I  am  gone.  No  child  that  ever 
came  to  us  has  been  to  the  hearts  of  the  Commu- 
nity what  Gretta  has  been.  There  is  no  one  of  us 
who  does  not  love  her,  and  to  me,"  he  said,  with  a 
little  falter  in  his  placid  tones,  "her  coming  has 
been  like  giving  back  to  my  old  age  the  sweet  little 
girl  I  lost  so  long  ago.  Yes,  so  long  as  the  home 
is  here,  there  will  always  be  a  place  for  Gretta  and 
for  thee." 

"  And  you  will  believe,"  she  added,  with  an 
effort,  for  it  grew  harder  and  harder  for  her  to 


KATHARINE  GRAY  139 

utter  any  emotion  of  her  heart,  "  you  will  believe 
that  I  do  feel  deeply  all  it  has  been  to  us  to  have 
this  shelter  all  these  years,  and  you  will  believe  I 
am  not  ungrateful ;  that  I  go  for  Gretta's  sake  and 
not  my  own  ?  " 

"I  believe  it,"  he  said,  still  sadly,  "and  yet  I 
wish  that  for  a  few  years  longer  she  might  have 
stayed  with  us.  I  would  have  her  go  out  into  the 
world,  if  she  must,  after  she  was  rooted  and 
grounded  in  faith,  after  she  had  learned  to  be 
guided  by  the  Spirit  of  truth  into  all  truth." 

"  I  think  she  is  a  good  child  and  a  true,"  an- 
swered Katharine,  flushing. 

"Thee  is  right,  friend,  but  thee  must  bear  with 
me  a  little.  Good  and  true  she  is  by  nature.  I 
knew  her  father.  He  was  indeed  a  man  of  God, 
and  her  grandfather,  Senator  Wild,  a  stanch  and 
noble  soul."  Katharine  started,  and  it  was  well 
that  the  shadows  hid  her  face ;  he  had  never  before 
betrayed  by  any  look  that  he  knew  the  family  from 
which  she  came.  "  And  I  knew  thy  father  too,  Mrs. 
Gray  ;  we  were  classmates  in  college,  and  when  thee 
and  thy  sister  were  wee  girlies  I  have  held  thee  on 
my  knee,  for  I  was  out  in  the  world  then.  Of 
course,  I  know  all  the  valley  people  hereabouts  for 
miles,  and  I  knew  when  Mrs.  Wild  died,  and  I 
drove  over  to  the  church  that  morning  not  dream- 
ing her  little  one  would  ever  claim  my  care.  I  felt 
in  Chicago  that  God  would  send  thee  to  me  if  I 
could  serve  thee ;  and  he  did.  Thee  could  not  trust 
me  with  thy  own  sorrow,  but  I  know  it  has  been 
great  indeed.  Let  me  tell  thee  mine  : 

"  Thy  father  chose  the  ministry,  Katharine — the 


140  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

Lord's  own  work,  and  I  chose  my  own  work  and  my 
own  way.  I  won  money — thy  father  won  souls  ;  I 
lived  to  see  my  child  follow  her  way  as  I  had  fol- 
lowed mine.  She  died  in  deepest  trouble.  She  had 
lived  a  life  without  a  governing  principle  of  duty  or 
conscience.  It  was  your  father  and  your  mother  who 
stood  by  her  in  her  last  hours,  and  heard  her  repent- 
ant words,  and  brought  her  message  of  love  to  me. 
They  knew  God.  They  knew  how  to  strengthen 
and  console.  I  was  reaping  the  whirlwind,  and  that 
child  was  all  that  was  left  to  me.  When  she  died  I 
was  done  with  life ;  I  chose  seclusion,  humility,  ser- 
vice to  the  will  of  God  at  last,  with  quiet,  silent  work 
for  his  children.  Dear  friend,  it  has  given  me  peace, 
and  if  I  know  thy  heart  thee  will  find  peace  nowhere 
else.  I  would  have  kept  thee  for  thy  father's  sake, 
and  given  thee  my  poor  dead  daughter's  place.  I 
know  that  Eunice,  thy  sister,  would  have  thee  rear 
her  child  to  live  the  life  of  humble,  patient  service 
to  God  and  man.  Take  her  away,  but  see  to  it 
that  in  all  thou  seekest  for  her  and  would  give  her, 
there  shall  be  the  presence  and  the  power  of  God. 
All  else  thee  will  find,  nay,  thee  has  found  already, 
changes  to  ashes  on  the  lips,  is  worse  than  weak, 
is  wicked.  But  '  the  Lord  thy  God  in  the  midst  of 
thee  is  mighty ' ;  strength,  and  honor,  and  glory, 
and  peace  are  where  he  is,  my  child." 

Katharine's  head  was  bowed  against  the  window- 
pane  and  her  eyes  shone  through  a  heavy  mist  of 
tears.  When  she  choked  down  the  sobs  in  her 
throat  and  turned  to  tell  him  "good  night,"  the 
dear  old  man  was  gone.  As  he  passed  along  the 
corridor  a  light  step  made  him  pause,  and  in  the 


KATHARINE  GRAY  141 

darkness  a  young  girl  came  close  to  him,  and  slip- 
ping her  hand  into  his,  said  hurriedly : 

"  I  was  coming  to  see  why  auntie  was  so  late.  I 
have  all  the  boxes  packed,  and  I  heard  you  talking 
and  I  could  not  help  hearing  your  dear,  kind  words 
about  me,  and — I  must  say  it — never  mind  just 
this  once  whether  it  is  proper  or  not,  I  must  say  it, 
I  love  you  all  so  much  here,  it  is  the  only  home  I 
know.  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Washington  or  any- 
where, but  if  I  must  go,  I  want  you,  dear  father,  to 
know  that  I  mean  to  be — "  her  voice  broke  and 
she  added  softly,  "what  you  told  auntie  you  wanted 
me  to  be  ;  I  mean  to  be  good,  oh,  so  good.  I  know 
what  you  meant  by  the  truth,  and  being  led  by  the 
Spirit,  and  the  life  I  want  is  the  life  '  with  God  in 
the  midst.'  I: 

"  Bless  thee,  my  child,  bless  thee,"  said  the  old 
man,  fervently.  "Take  that  as  thy  motto,  'The 
Lord  thy  God  in  the  midst  of  thee  is  mighty,'  not 
only  in  the  midst  of  thy  affairs,  though  thee  must  see 
to  it  that  he  is  there,  but  in  the  midst  of  thee,  in 
thy  life,  in  thy  love,  in  thee,"  and  he  opened  his 
arms  as  if  he  would  fold  her  to  his  heart,  and  then 
laid  his  trembling  hand  upon  her  head  and  passed 
on.  And  upstairs,  in  the  little  whitewashed  room 
from  whose  window  she  could  see  the  waving  locust 
branches  and  the  silent  stars,  the  girl  knelt  and 
prayed  that  in  the  new  life  to  which  she  was  going 
she  might  be  very  good.  And  her  mother,  a  part 
of  whose  punishment  it  was  that  she  should  never 
hear  those  sweet  lips  call  her  mother,  pausing 
silently  at  the  door,  felt  as  if  around  her  child  had 
been  drawn  a  circle  of  light  across  which  she  could 


142  THE  TEMPTATION 

not  pass  to  gather  her  close  to  her  hungry,  lonely 
heart. 

As  Katharine  stood  there  in  the  dim  light,  she 
was  again  what  she  had  been  when  she  married 
Robert  Gray,  a  stately  and  beautiful  woman.  In 
the  quiet  of  these  years  the  body  had  claimed 
again  its  birthright  of  beauty  and  strength.  The 
traces  of  the  time  of  exhausting  toil,  the  wasted 
figure,  were  gone.  The  inward  fight  gave  the  face 
great  sensitiveness  and  reserve  and  pride ;  but  it 
became  her  well,  and  she  looked  well-equipped  in 
face  and  bearing  to  meet  the  new,  strange  world 
into  which  on  the  morrow  she  would  go  with  her 
beautiful  child. 


CHAPTER  XI 

OTRANGE  thoughts  that  neither  could  have  told 
O  the  other  stirred  the  hearts  of  both  mother 
and  daughter  as  they  set  forth  with  abundant  bless- 
ings and  every  comfort  that  could  be  crowded  upon 
them  on  the  morning  of  a  radiant  day.  The  elder 
went  with  them  to  the  station,  but  his  words  were 
few  and  sad.  With  the  exception  of  her  rare  visits 
to  Walden,  visits  in  which  Mr.  Morse,  the  business 
man,  found  her  careful,  accurate,  and  frugal,  the 
years  had  been  those  of  almost  absolute  isolation 
from  the  world.  Communication  with  Mrs.  Mait- 
land  had  never  been  entirely  interrupted ;  and  the 
letters  on  one  side  were  always  full  of  eager  ex- 
pectation of  the  day  when  Gretta  should  be  trans- 
ferred to  the  Washington  home,  and  on  Katharine's 
part  to  minute  descriptions  of  the  child,  such  as 
would  be  sure  to  keep  the  affectionate  interest 
alive.  She  had  been  on  to  confer  with  Mrs.  Mait- 
land  several  times,  and  on  one  occasion,  one  only, 
she  took  Gretta  to  Washington,  and  passed  a 
a  few  days  in  the  beautiful  old  home  when  the  little 
girl  was  at  just  the  age  to  have  forgotten  her  baby- 
hood and  had  so  changed  that  Deborah  could  not, 
by  any  chance,  suspect  she  was  not  getting  back 
her  fond  old  heart's  desire. 

From  this  visit  Mrs.  Maitland  was  confirmed  in 
her  previous  opinion  that  the  child  was  in  excellent 


144  THE  TEMPTATION  OK 

care,  and  that  it  was  better  for  her  to  be,  during 
childhood,  under  the  quiet,  steady  influence  of  this 
reticent,  but  intelligent  and  well-bred  woman,  than 
to  be  spoiled  by  Deborah's  worshipful  indulgence 
and  excess  of  devotion.  Satisfied  with  the  promise 
of  future  possession,  and  finding  her  health  greatly 
impaired,  Mrs.  Maitland  went  abroad  for  some 
years,  and  it  was  the  fact  of  her  return  that  had 
decided  Katharine  upon  a  change  of  home. 

In  all  these  years  Gretta's  education  had  not 
been  altogether  neglected.  She  had  all  that  her 
mother  could  give  supplemented  by  all  that  could 
be  gathered  from  the  school  and  the  teacher.  And 
when  Katharine  wanted  more,  and  explained  to 
those  in  authority  that  she  must  go  away  and  seek 
elsewhere  what  could  not  be  provided  there,  the 
good  elder  himself  became  the  girl's  tutor  and  set 
the  tasks  which  mother  and  daughter  together 
studied  and  read,  until  their  knowledge  was  far 
beyond  the  Community  standard  of  woman's  need. 
But  for  the  fact  that  the  entire  Community 
was  a  unit  in  the  feeling  that  Gretta  was  to 
be  denied  nothing,  the  good  elder  would  have 
found  his  self-imposed  task  difficult,  but  they 
did  not  criticise  too  severely  the  man  who  so 
ably  represented  them  before  the  world,  whose 
learning  and  ability  and  wealth  had  been  freely 
used  in  their  behalf.  Neither  did  they  desire  to 
lose  the  pet  of  the  people,  the  one  child  who  had 
made  her  place  in  every  heart.  And  the  lack  of 
companionship  in  study  was  supplied  by  the  mother, 
whose  life  was  never  free  from  the  haunting,  jeal- 
ous fear  of  everything  that  could  make  a  barrier 


KATHARINE  GRAY  145 

between  her  daughter  and  herself.  Therefore  she 
insisted  upon  solving  every  problem,  writing  every 
exercise,  studying  every  Greek  root  or  Latin  conju- 
gation, analyzing  every  plant,  in  short,  striving  to 
think  the  thoughts  that  filled  the  mind  of  the  young 
and  eager  girl. 

It  was  therefore  no  rude  or  ignorant  creature 
who  lifted  her  eager  face  for  Madame  Maitland's 
kiss,  but  a  maiden  so  bright,  so  vivacious  and  yet 
gentle,  so  truly  kind  in  the  sweet,  simple  courtesy 
of  her  Community  manners ;  so  alive  to  new  impres- 
sions and  to  new  kindness  that  the  old  heart  rested 
in  her  without  misgiving  of  any  kind.  "Just  a 
new  blessing  sent  of  God,"  Madame  Maitland  said 
to  Deborah,  "  to  make  up  for  all  we  have  lost — a 
gentle,  gracious  little  woman  with  the  merry  heart 
of  a  child." 

Too  wise  to  expect  that  the  Community  life 
would  not  be  talked  over  by  Gretta,  her  mother 
had  taken  the  first  opportunity  to  speak  of  it  to 
Mrs.  Maitland. 

"  Before  you  went  away  you  may  remember  that 
you  agreed  with  me  that  a  simple  country  home 
would  be  best  for  Gretta,  and  I  did  not  like  it  to  be 
in  the  old  Walden  parsonage.  That  house  I  gave 
over  for  a  term  of  years  to  Mr.  Morse,  the  lawyer, 
who  always  had  charge  of  my  sister's  and  my  fath- 
er's affairs,  and  in  whose  hands  I  have  left  them  ever 
since.  We  could  have  lived  there,  but  it  seemed  to 
me  wiser  to  escape  the  village  associations  and  com- 
panionships. I  preferred  to  have  Gretta  wait  to 
form  friendships  till  she  could  see  more  than  one 
type  of  being  and  become  wise  enough  to  choose 

K 


146  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

for  herself.  So  I  have  been  staying  with  her  at 
the  Loriston  Community,  whose  leader,  Eli  Osborn, 
is  my  father's  early  friend.  He  is  a  scholar  and  a 
gentleman,  and,"  she  added,  gently,  "a  Christian, 
and  he  has  been  our  teacher  and  our  friend."  And 
so  reasonable  did  all  this  sound  that  the  dear  old 
lady's  involuntary  criticism  was  changed  to  wonder- 
ing admiration  at  the  wisdom  and  foresight  that  had 
been  shown  in  this  unusual  choice  of  a  home. 

"  You  have  certainly  preserved  her  from  all  the 
dangers  of  too  familiar  association  with  other  young 
people,"  she  said,  gently.  "Whatever  the  peculiar 
views  of  this  strange  sect  it  is  evident  that  they 
teach  the  regulation  of  life  by  principle,  and  I  know 
you  will  agree  with  me,  Mrs.  Gray,  that  religious 
principle,  allegiance  to  right,  is  the  only  foundation 
on  which  any  life  should  rest."  She  did  not  pause 
to  note  that  Katharine  made  no  answer.  If  she 
had  answered,  and  truly,  she  would  have  given  un- 
qualified assent.  She  did  believe  it,  alas  !  She  did 
know  that  all  the  misery  her  own  life  had  known 
had  been  the  result  of  lack  of  principle  in  herself 
or  in  others,  and  yet — 

"  There  are  some  disadvantages,"  the  gentle  voice 
went  on,  "however,  in  too  great  separation  from 
other  lives.  I  should  think  well  of  bringing  Gretta 
as  soon  as  possible  now  into  every-day  contact  with 
other  phases  of  life." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  school  for  her,"  an- 
swered Katharine,  "  possibly  some  school  in  Wash- 
ington." 

"  Not  here,"  answered  Madame  Maitland,  quickly ; 
"not  the  home  life,  and  the  social  life,  and  the 


KATHARINE   GRAY  147 

school  life  all  at  once.  If  I  kept  her  here  I  should 
want  her  so  much  of  the  time  for  myself  and  there 
are  so  many  friends,  young  and  old,  with  whom  to 
share  her  youth  and  beauty,  that  she  could  not  give 
her  mind  to  books.  I  love  her  so  dearly  already 
that  I  must  resist  my  temptation  to  be  selfish. 
She  seems  a  precious  treasure  sent  me  out  of  the 
wreck  of  the  past.  And  I  think  she  loves  me  too. 
We  seemed  to  understand  each  other  at  once,"  she 
added,  turning  her  sweet,  aged  face  trustfully 
toward  Mrs.  Gray's,  "  and  she  opened  her  heart  to 
me  about  her  thoughts  of  life  and  of  God.  She  said 
she  could  not  see  how  any  one  could  live  without 
the  consciousness  of  him  in  the  very  midst  of  every 
day's  work  or  pleasure.  It  made  me,  as  I  am  sure 
it  does  you,  very  happy  to  feel  that,  young  as  she  is, 
she  had  found  the  blessed  secret  of  content." 

"  So  you  think  a  school  at  a  distance  will  be  best 
for  her  ? "  asked  Katharine,  in  a  voice  so  sad  that 
Madame  Maitland  answered,  with  a  smile: 

"  Ah,  that  thought  pains  you !  If  she  stayed 
here,  you  would,  at  least  I  hope  you  would,  stay 
with  her.  If  at  school,  perhaps  you  could  not ;  and 
if  the  idea  of  letting  her  go  is  painful  to  me,  what 
must  it  to  be  to  you  who  have  had  her  all  these 
years  ? "  and  the  kind-hearted  old  lady  laid  her  white, 
thin  hand  gently  on  Katharine's  arm.  Under  the 
unaccustomed  touch  of  real  tenderness  and  sym- 
pathy hot  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes.  For  one  wild 
moment  the  poor  heart  beat  painfully  against  the 
bars  of  its  prison  house  of  deceit,  and  longed  to 
utter,  yea,  even  to  cry  aloud  the  truth,  for  well  she 
knew  that  nothing  but  the  truth  could  ever  bring 


148  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

her  peace.  Her  throat  throbbed  painfully,  she 
longed  to  throw  herself  on  her  knees  here  in  the 
twilight  of  the  dying  day,  and  put  her  head  on  this 
dear  saint's  lap  arid  tell  her  everything.  True,  it 
would  be  like  death  to  her  to  live  apart  from  the 
face  and  voice  she  loved,  yet  infinitely  more  cruel 
was  the  torturing  thought,  always  recurring,  always 
thrusting  itself  upon  her  in  the  moments  when  she 
was  most  at  rest,  that  this  difference  in  character 
and  in  motive  was  going  to  force  them  inevitably 
apart.  The  girl  loved  truth — she  herself  was  living 
a  daily  lie.  The  girl  loved  God — she  was  continu- 
ally defying  him.  The  girl,  dwelling  in  him  and  he. 
in  her — she,  outside  in  a  cold  world  of  her  own, 
taking  her  own  will  and  way.  The  girl  was  surely 
coming  in  touch  with  other  hearts  that  knew  and 
loved  him  too — she  was  more  and  more  shrinking 
back  into  isolation  and  loss.  Surely  after  all  she  had 
suffered  this  was  too  much  to  bear.  Strange  that 
her  own  inherited,  innate  love  of  the  truth,  always 
rising  and  chiding  and  pleading,  should  be  so  hard 
to  die  !  For  the  moment  the  child  in  her,  long 
smothered  and  denied,  pleaded  to  pour  her  heart 
out  into  this  aged  mother-heart,  and  yet,  she  with- 
drew her  trembling  hands  and  clasped  them  tightly 
in  her  lap,  and  choked  down  the  sobs  and  talked 
quietly  about  different  schools  and  about  her  own 
chance  of  living  in  or  near  whatever  school  should 
be  chosen,  so  as  to  make  certain  that  no  day  might 
pass  without  a  sight  of  her  idol's  shining  face. 

And  when  a  few  months  later  Gretta  became  one  of 
the  hundred  girls  at  the  beautiful  institution  of  Cas- 
tleton,  within  three  hours  distance  from  Wildholm, 


KATHARINE   GRAY  149 

Katharine  went  with  her,  and  finding  a  home  in  the 
family  of  one  of  the  professors  who  lived  with  his 
mother  in  a  charming  little  house  within  convenient 
distance  from  the  college,  she  gave  herself  to  study 
of  everything  that  Gretta  was  to  learn,  and  was  able 
to  keep  in  touch  with  her  life  in  so  far  as  books 
could  make  a  common  meeting  ground.  Haunted 
always  by  the  cruel  fear  of  inward  separation,  she 
watched  Gretta's  every  mood,  supplied  her  every 
need,  and  never,  by  any  chance,  allowed  her  to  be- 
come accustomed  to  living  without  her. 

Gretta's  daily  visit  during  the  hour  of  recreation 
was  never  omitted,  and  was  always  made  delightful 
to  as  many  classmates  as  Gretta  liked  to  bring. 
Mrs.  Gray  was  never  anything  but  the  rather  stately 
well-bred  lady  of  whose  tender  care  any  young  girl 
might  be  proud,  and  more  than  one  bright  young 
student,  brought  in  contact  with  Mrs.  Gray,  wished 
that  she  had  aunt  or  mother  who  cared  as  much  for 
her  progress  as  Katharine  seemed  to  care  for  that 
of  her  niece.  And  Katharine,  who  had  not  at  first 
much  heart  for  the  other  girls,  yet  became  in  time 
comforter  in  homesickness,  the  nurse  in  headaches 
and  heartaches,  the  helper  in  difficult  lessons, 
strengthening  herself  with  her  own  child  by  making 
a  place  in  her  own  life  for  all  that  Gretta  brought 
or  for  which  she  seemed  to  care. 

And,  strange  as  it  might  seem,  this  new  atmos- 
phere brought  to  the  silent,  lonely  woman,  hitherto 
so  engrossed  in  her  own  cares  as  to  have  no  room 
for  the  outside  world,  a  new  life  of  the  intellect  of 
which  in  her  youth  she  never  even  dreamed.  She 
could  not  keep  pace  intellectually  with  a  young 


150  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

girl's  processes  of  training  and  not  go  in  reality  far 
beyond  them.  She  could  not  live  a  life  among 
books  in  an  atmosphere  of  growing  thought  and 
not  find  her  own  thought-world  widening.  So  self- 
centered  and  concentrated  had  been  her  existence 
at  Loriston,  so  repulsive  her  previous  contact  with 
human  beings,  that  the  reaction  in  favor  of  seeing 
and  knowing  people  was  naturally  slow.  In  the 
past,  if  she  could  but  have  her  own  child  and  be 
let  alone  in  the  enjoyment  of  her  possession,  it  was 
all  she  had  asked ;  but  now  as  she  accepted  the 
thought  that  her  child's  life  was  to  be  in  a  world  of 
living  women  and  men,  she  resolved  not  to  be  left 
outside,  and  was  astonished  to  find  that,  gradually 
she  was  becoming  glad  to  be  there,  and  finding 
pleasure  in  things  she  had  at  first  cared  for  only 
because  her  daughter  cared. 

She  had  lived  too  subtly  and  intensely  herself 
not  to  be  able  to  feel  her  way  to  the  real  spring 
and  secret  of  motive  in  many  other  lives,  and 
human  nature  as  she  found  it,  if  it  failed  to  arouse 
her  pity,  did  not  escape  her  scorn.  And  what 
seemed  even  more  surprising,  considering  her  past 
deadness  to  all  that  appealed  to  sympathy,  pity 
was  often  more  alive  and  active  than  contempt. 
She  lived  amid  uplifting  associations.  Madame 
Maitland's  life  was  nobleness  itself.  Every  one 
trusted  her,  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  better 
side  of  Katharine's  nature  vibrated  in  response. 
.  She  had  felt  herself  debarred  by  the  inward  tragedy 
of  her  own  existence  from  the  every-day  experi- 
ences of  her  kind.  Now,  to  her  surprise,  she 
found  a  warm  human  element  of  fellowship  that, 


KATHARINE  GRAY  151 

while  it  did  not  make  her  less  a  sinner,  made  her 
shrink  from  the  loneliness  of  sin.  She  found  she 
was  not  only  interested  in  knowing  what  people 
were  on  the  inside,  but  she  was  interested  in  know- 
ing what  had  made  them  as  they  were,  and  strang- 
est thing  of  all,  in  what  could  make  them  better. 
For  herself,  she  knew  what  had  made  her  as  she 
was.  She  could  make  a  cruel  and  cold  analysis  of 
temperament,  tendency,  and  circumstance,  and  fol- 
low, step  by  step,  a  pitiless  process  of  deterioration 
that  revealed  to  her  how  she  came  to  be  the  woman 
she  then  was.  Now  she  found  herself  doing  the 
same  with  other  people,  with  a  strange  addition  of  an 
element  of  charity  and  tolerance  that  never  for  a 
moment  had  she  applied  to  herself.  She  was  a 
sinner,  but  never  yet,  by  one  hair's  breadth,  did  she 
narrow  the  sin,  in  her  own  view,  to  a  mistake  or  a 
misfortune  or  another's  fault.  She  met  it  squarely 
as  a  sin,  her  own  determined  and  deliberate  sin, 
and  however  strong  at  times  might  be  her  impulse 
to  let  her  own  heart  break,  if  so  she  could  rid  it  of 
ics  awful  secret,  yet  she  knew  for  her  child's  sake, 
unless  she  would  doubly  blight  her  young  life,  she 
must  go  on  and  on.  There  was  literally  no  "  place 
for  repentance  "  anywhere  down  the  long  vista  of 
coming  years,  unless  indeed  Gretta  should  go  before 
her  out  of  life ;  and  at  this  thought  always  came 
back  all  that  made  her  hard  and  unrepentant  and 
bitter  to  all  the  world. 

Yet  she  did  not  want  to  be  bitter  any  more ;  she 
was  aweary  of  her  isolation  and  of  herself.  For 
her  all  must  just  go  on  as  now,  but  for  the  others — 
those  in  error  and  those  in  trouble,  those  for  whom 


152  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

life  in  any  particular  could  be  made  better — she 
felt  this  new,  strange  softening  of  heart  that  would 
have  worked  for  them ;  and  though  she  could 
not  pray  for  them,  in  her  fervent  eagerness  to  have 
them  helped  was  glad  when  others  prayed.  She 
would  even  have  been  glad  if  by  giving  herself  and 
her  time,  all  except  that  needed  by  Gretta,  she 
might  feel  that  she  too  was  diminishing  by  ever 
so  little  the  world's  misery  and  guilt ;  yet,  if  some 
vague,  half-formed  notion  of  atonement  was  at  the 
bottom  of  her  desire,  she  had  not  recognized  or 
formulated  it  as  a  motive  for  the  change. 

In  the  vacations  they  were  always  claimed  at 
Wildholm,  and  at  all  other  intervals  when  she  could 
bring  herself  to  be  absent  from  Gretta  she  yielded 
to  Madame  Maitland's  pleading  that  she  should 
spend  the  time  with  her.  The  sweet  woman  was 
gradually  growing  less  active,  but  the  eager  mind 
and  loving  heart  could  never  be  robbed  of  youth. 
Realizing  her  infirmities,  she  had  come  to  look  to 
Katharine  as  the  natural  sharer  of  all  her  loving 
interest  and  the  one  to  carry  out  her  wishes  con- 
cerning Gretta's  future  life.  And  Katharine  would 
have  been  less  than  woman  if  she  had  not  loved 
her;  and  in  her  presence  the  hardness  and  bitter- 
ness slipped  more  and  more  into  the  background, 
and  the  nobler  side  of  the  woman  pleaded  for  out- 
let and  expression. 

They  made  a  lovely  picture  one  vacation  morn- 
ing as  they  sat  on  the  veranda — Madame  Maitland, 
her  gray  hair  crowned  with  the  soft,  white  muslin 
that  Debby  liked  to  fashion  into  a  cap;  and  Kath- 
arine, the  soft  folds  of  whose  attire  of  Quaker  gray 


KATHARINE   GRAY  153 

always  harmonized  with  her  reserve  and  gentle  dig- 
nity of  bearing ;  and  Gretta,  flushed  from  the  exer- 
cise of  loading  her  arms  with  roses,  her  cheeks  as 
bright  as  the  flowers  themselves,  resting  on  the 
steps  at  Madame  Maitland's  feet.  Debby,  in  bright 
red  kerchief  and  turban  was  on  one  side,  and 
Beppo,  a  great,  shaggy  Newfoundland  dog,  who 
stayed  as  close  to  Gretta  as  did  Deborah  whenever 
she  was  at  home,  was  lying  at  her  feet. 

"  It  is  so  delightful  to  be  here  again,  auntie," 
said  Gretta,  tossing  a  cluster  of  the  scarlet  roses  on 
Madame  Maitland's  lap. 

"  Why  do  you  not  say  delightful  to  be  home 
again ;  isn't  this  home  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  is,  the  only  real  home  I  ever  knew." 

"  I  want  you  to  think  of  it  as  home,  both  of 
you,"  said  the  old  lady,  seeing  the  shadow  on  Kath- 
arine's face  ;  "  I  want  it  to  be  real  home  henceforth 
to  you  both.  There's  no  one  else  to  care  for  it 
when  I  am  gone.  It  will  all  come  to  Gretta,  and 
she  will  remember  that  I  expect  her  auntie  to  share 
it,  she  has  been  so  good  to  my  own  little  girl,"  and 
she  passed  her  hand  lovingly  over  Gretta's  face 
which  rested  against  her  knee. 

"  She  is  my  little  girl  too,  Madame  Maitland," 
said  Katharine,  flushing. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  are  even  nearer  of  kin  than  I 
am,  but  really  her  father  was  more  like  my  son 
than  my  nephew.  I  was  mother  to  him  after  his 
own  mother  died,  and  so  she  seems  like  my  own 
little  granddaughter.  And  we  are  very  close  too, 
are  we  not,  darling  ? "  she  asked,  lifting  Gretta's 
face  until  the  smiling  eyes  looked  into  her  own. 


154  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

"  The  very  closest,  dear  grandmamma,"  said 
Gretta,  laughing  back  into  her  face.  "  I  used  to 
wish  at  Loriston,  when  I  watched  the  sweet,  placid 
faces  of  the  white-haired  women,  that  my  grand- 
mothers had  lived  till  I  knew  them,  though  I  don't 
believe  I  would  have  loved  them  or  dared  to  tell 
them  all  my  naughty  ways  as  I  do  you,"  and  she 
kissed  and  fondled  the  thin  hand  that  lay  against 
her  cheek. 

"  I  was  about  saying,  dear  friend,"  the  old  lady 
went  on,  as  if  her  mind  was  too  full  to  pay  much 
heed  to  caresses,  "  that  I  want  you  to  see  to  it 
when  I  am  gone  that  this  house  is  a  true  Christian 
home.  I  believe  such  homes  are  to  be  our  country's 
salvation,  and  the  increasing  lack  of  them  is  our 
greatest  danger.  Gretta  is  young  and  she  might 
not  realize  its  importance  as  you  will,  but  this  has 
alvvays  been  a  Christian  home,  and  I  wish  it  to  con- 
tinue to  be  so.  And,  dear  Mrs.  Gray,  Gretta  may 
not  care  to  live  here,  but  whatever  or  whoever  else 
goes,  you  must  feel  it  is  your  home  always.  Do  you 
hear,  Gretta,"  she  added,  as  Katharine  made  no 
reply.  "  You  will  not  need,  unless  you  prefer  it, 
to  make  this  house  your  home.  There  will  be 
enough,  with  what  will  come  to  you  from  your 
father  and  from  me  for  you  to  make  your  home 
where  you  will ;  but  in  case  you  should  not  choose 
this  house,  I  want  it  to  be  given  for  some  good 
work,  and  I  want  your  aunt  to  keep  a  home  for 
herself  here  whenever  she  chooses  to  come." 

"  Should  that  good  work  be  for  women  ?  "  asked 
Katharine. 

"  Yes,  and  not  yes.     For  women  or  for  men.     I 


KATHARINE   GRAY  155 

have  not  separated  them  in  my  thought  of  human 
needs.  There  will  be  time  to  think  it  out  I  trust, 
for  it  may  be  years  before  I  go.  I  am  watching 
carefully  the  changes  that  are  coming  in  women's 
opportunities  for  usefulness.  Some  of  the  so- 
called  "  movements "  my  heart  has  longed  and 
prayed  to  see.  They  come  too  late  for  me,  but  so 
far  as  they  mean  good,  that  is,  good-will  to  man,  I 
want  to  see  them  prosper.  I  don't  believe  they 
can  prosper  except  on  one  foundation." 

"  Do  you  believe  then,  that  no  good  is  done  out- 
side the  church  ? "  asked  Katharine,  a  tinge  of  her 
old  bitterness  creeping  into  her  tone. 

"  No,  no,  I  would  not  be  so  misunderstood.  But  I 
do  believe  that  the  principles  of  love  and  unselfish 
good-will,  the  willingness  to  give  one's  self  for  the 
healing  and  help  of  the  world,  as  it  was  illustrated 
by  the  life  and  emphasized  by  the  death  of  Christ, 
is  the  only  spirit  that  is  going  to  avail  in  any  form 
of  work.  When  we  organize  and  plan  and  labor, 
and  leave  that  spirit  out,  we  might  as  well  leave  the 
good  work  undone.  It  lacks  the  only  element  of 
power,  the  leaven  of  life.  We  speak  of  that  spirit 
as  Love.  To  me  it  is  Immanuel,  it  is  all  we  have 
of  God  with  us.  You  remember  the  passage  that 
says,  '  The  Lord  thy  God  in  the  midst  of  thee  is 
mighty '  ?  Well,  I  have  little  hope  for  any  life,  or 
any  work  that  has  not  God  in  the  midst.  But,"  she 
added,  with  a  gentle  half  apology  in  her  tone,  "  I 
need  not  make  you  a  sermon,  I  am  sure  you  would 
feel  as  I  do  about  the  home ;  yet —  "  she  paused 
and  the  eyes  sought  Katharine's  with  a  little  anxious 
and  troubled  question  in  their  depths. 


156  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  I  am  sure  we  do  feel  every  bit  as  you  do,"  said 
Gretta,  impulsively  springing  up  to  kiss  the  sweet 
old  face  ;  "  but  I  don't  believe  I  would  ever  be  good 
like  you  and  want  to  give  the  home  up.  We  couldn't 
bear  not  to  have  it  for  our  very  own  selves,  could 
we,  Debby  ?  Yet,"  catching  the  black  eyes  fixed  on 
her  with  their  usual  adoring  gaze,  "we  couldn't, 
couldn't  stay  in  it  without  the  sweetest  of  grand- 
mammas ;  I  can't  even  bear  to  hear  about  that  for 
a  moment,"  she  added.  "Come,  Debby,  come, 
Beppo,  let's  go  for  more  flowers,"  and  the  girl  hur- 
ried away  to  hide  the  swift-coming  tears. 

"  The  dear  child  is  so  happy  now  she  cannot  bear 
the  thought  that  any  change  can  come,"  said  Mrs. 
Gray. 

"  And  yet  I  must  tell  her  or  I  must  tell  you," 
pleaded  Madame  Maitland,  "though  I  shrink  from 
saddening  either  of  you.  My  remaining  years  can- 
not be  many,  and  there  is  no  one  but  you  to  carry 
out  my  plans." 

"  What  sort  of  a  home  had  you  in  mind  ?  I  am 
most  glad  to  hear  about  it,  and  I  need  not  tell  you 
most  glad  to  help,"  said  Katharine,  her  eyes  still 
fixed  upon  the  ground. 

"  I  wish,  first  of  all,  the  home  to  be  used  by  Gretta, 
if  she  wishes,  and  I  shall  leave,  aside  from  her  por- 
tion, a  sum  sufficient  to  support  it  from  year  to 
year.  But  if  she  does  not  want  it,  I  do  not  wish 
it  made  an  institution  for  any  one  class  of  men, 
women,  or  children — not  a  home  for  old  men, 
or  old  women,  or  inebriates,  or  a  hospital,  or  an 
asylum  for  any  class ;  but  a  Christian  home,  for 
a  man  or  a  woman,  old  or  young,  or  for  little  chil- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  157 

dren ;  a  refuge  for  such  a  time  as  each  may  need 
it ;  a  resting-place  where  weakened  souls  or  bodies 
may  be  brought  back  into  conditions  of  life  and 
service,  or  where  young  forces  may  be  preserved 
and  strengthened  and  trained.  It  should  be  a 
home — not  simply  a  place  for  people  to  come  to 
die  in.  Life  ought  to  go  out  from  it  in  the  person 
of  every  inmate,  to  bless  and  purify  the  world.  It 
may  seem  a  foolish  and  impracticable  plan,  and 
doubtless  would  be  thought  so  by  a  Board  of  trus- 
tees, but  I  have  always  been  bringing  home  one 
and  another  of  the  stricken  in  body  and  soul,  and 
the  house  has  rarely  been  without  the  presence  of 
several  friends  who  have  found  it  a  refuge  and  rest. 
They  are  my  '  friends '  all  the  same,  whether  out- 
wardly strangers  or  not.  I  want  this  home  to  go 
on,  with  the  understanding  that  all  who  come  shall 
be  made  to  know  what  a  Christian  home  is  like." 

"  And  you  will  arrange  for  Gretta  to  do  this  work  ? 
You  will  leave  it  a  trust  to  her  ? " 

"  To  her  or  to  you.  I  do  not  like  to  put  upon 
her  what  might  be  a  burden  of  care,  but  I  would 
leave  it  to  you,  if  you  would  consent  to  carry  the 
care  for  her.  Tf  otherwise,  it  might  be  better  to 
separate  it  from  the  rest  of  the  estate,  and  put  it 
in  the  hands  of  a  Board  of  managers.  Frankly  I 
prefer  to  leave  it  to  an  individual  whom  I  can  trust. 
In  any  event,"  she  went  on,  "  I  hope  the  dear  old 
place  will  be  your  home,  Mrs.  Gray.  You  have  no 
ties  closer  than  those  which  bind  you  to  Gretta, 
though,"  her  voice  softened,  "  I  learned  from  De- 
borah that  once  you  lost  a  little  girl."  Katharine's 
head  sank  lower.  "  Forgive  me,"  said  the  tender  old 


158  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

voice,  "  I  have  never  dared  touch  that  sorrow  and 
I  will  not  now  "  ;  the  lowered  head  suddenly  lifted, 
Katharine  was  very  pale  and  a  defiant  bitterness 
rang  in  her  tone  as  she  said  : 

"  There  is  nothing  else  in  the  wide  world  so  near 
or  dear  to  me  as  my  own  Gretta." 

"  Then  you  will  stay  and  let  me  plan  as  I  pro- 
posed ?  I  am  only  asking  you  to  make  for  some  of 
God's  suffering  or  forsaken  ones  a  home  where  they 
would  know  he  is  loved  and  honored — a  home  with 
'  God  in  the  midst.'  '  But  Katharine's  face  was 
lowered  from  sight  again,  and  the  old  thin  hand  just 
touched  it  pityingly  as  she  said  : 

"  I  am  sorry  I  hurt  an  unhealed  wound,  my  dear ; 
you  must  forgive  me.  God,  you  see,  is  entrusting 
you  with  other  sore  hearts.  If  you  accept,  as  I  am 
sure  you  do,  his  trust,  be  very  sure  he  will  not  leave 
your  own  uncomforted."  Again  the  white,  an- 
guished face  was  lifted  ;  she  tried  to  speak  but  the 
aged  saint  bent  down  and  kissed  the  quivering  lips. 
"  Don't  try  to  talk,  dear,"  she  whispered,  "  I  under- 
stand. I  trust  you  with  the  work  ;  I  have  seen  you 
trusted  with  your  sister's  child  and  know  you  would 
be  true  to  any  trust,"  and  she  passed  within  doors 
leaving  the  kiss  that  seemed  to  her  the  sign  of  a 
solemn  compact  to  serve  the  suffering  children  of 
God  ;  and  seemed  to  Katharine,  tempted  and  tor- 
tured, like  a  kiss  of  betrayal  that  marked  a  depth 
of  dishonor  and  deceit  such  as  her  soul  had  never 
touched  before. 

Katharine  did  not  appear  at  dinner  ;  she  was  not 
well  and  submitted  passively  in  her  darkened  room 
to  Gretta's  caresses  and  loving  efforts  to  relieve  the 


KATHARINE   GRAY  159 

throbbing  head.  In  the  morning  she  was  as  usual 
but  for  a  deepened  pallor  of  cheek  and  lip,  yet 
Deborah  told  her  mistress  : 

"  I  done  scared  silly,  Miss  Marion.  Mrs.  Gray 
she  jest  walk,  walk  all  night  long  dat  back  veranda 
on  de  ole  west  wing.  She  walk,  and  wring  her 
hands,  and  cry  jest  like  when  Gretta's  mother  died. 
I  hear  de  po'  thing  a  moanin'  and  a  moanin',  and  I 
steal  roun'  and  sees  her  jest  out  de  do'.  She  done 
staydar  mos'  all  night,  miss.  I  d'clare,  Miss  Marion, 
I'se  mighty  scared  to  fetch  her  in  and  I'se  mighty 
scared  to  leave  her  out." 

"  Don't  mind  it,  Debby,"  said  Madame  Maitland, 
who  minded  it  very  much,  however,  herself.  "  I  am 
afraid  I  grieved  her  by  speaking  of  her  poor  little 
dead  child." 

"  Sho'  nuff,  Miss  Marion.  She  moighty  nice, 
Miss  Gray,  but  she  done  take  on  awful  inside  her 
body  and  bones ;  I  do  believe  she  neber  done 
mournin'  'bout  dat  dead  and  gone  chile." 

"  Yes,  she  must  have  had  a  great  sorrow,  and  we 
must  do  all  we  can  to  help  her  to  bear  or  to  forget  it." 

"  Lors,  Miss  Marion,  she  won't  let  me  do  nuffin. 
I's  tried  to  wait  on  her  good.  Tears  like  she  mos' 
times  don't  want  me  roun'.  Sho'  nuff,  we  all's  been 
good  to  her.  She  kep'  our  baby  and  love  it  more'n 
sufficient  for  two  chillen.  She  greedy  'bout  her, 
jes'  reg'lar  mother  greed.  I  has  hard  work  to  wait 
on  Miss  Gretta.  Her  aunt  do  it  all,  or  make  Gretta 
do  for  herself.  No  way  to  fotch  young  miss  up  in 
dis  fambly  while  Debby  got  legs  to  go  and  hands  to 
work,"  and  suddenly  drawing  nearer,  her  black  eyes 
glittering,  and  glancing  furtively  around  as  if  she 


l6o  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

feared  she  might  be  overheard,  she  went  on : 
"  When  I  see  how  she  look  sometimes  when  Miss 
Gretta's  lovin'  you,  or  foolin'  roun'  me,  I's  mighty 
scared.  I  done  believe  she  kinder  conjure  Miss 
Gretta  ever  since  she  get  her.  She  boun'  to  have 
dat  chile  all  to  herself  and  she  don't  nebber  say  'de 
Lawd  willin','  she  don't.  She  boun'  to  hev  her! 
She  send  me  off  wheder  or  no  and  break  my  heart. 
She  fotch  her  up  all  alone  on  dat  crazy  farm.  She 
try  make  Gretta  be  shet  up  like  her,  nebber  tell 
nuffin.  'Pears  like  she  conjure  her  till  she  make 
dat  baby  over  jest  like  her  is  herself.  Whatever  else 
make  dem  blue  eyes  our  baby  had  get  brown  like 
Miss  Gray's  ?  What  make  dat  little  nose  dat  had 
little  hump  jes'  like  Massa  Larry's  get  straight  like 
Miss  Gray's  ?  I  done  tell  you,  Miss  Marion,  I's 
stedied  on  it,  and  stedied  on  it,  and  believe  dar's 
a  way  if  we  human  folks  only  gits  it  by  de  handle, 
to  git  eberyt'ing  we  want.  Its  all  in  lovin',  Miss 
Marion.  Didn't  ole  miss  love  Massa  Larry  into  de 
kingdom?  and  didn't  dis  yer  aunt  jest  git  dat  baby 
by  lovin'  her  so  much  ?  She  jest  boun'  to  hev  her  ! 
Couldn't  nuffin  stop  her,  and  now  she  jest  lovin'  her 
into  thinkin'  same  as  her  and  actin'  jest  same, 
walkin'  jest  same,  and  talkin'  and  lookin'  jest  like 
her  too.  She  done  los'  de  fambly  nose,  and  I  tell 
you,  Miss  Marion,  Miss  Gray  she  done  jest  love  de 
fambly  nose  right  off  dat  precious  chile." 

"  But,  Deborah,  how  foolish  !  Babies'  eyes  often 
darken  from  blue  to  brown,  and  no  one  can  proph- 
esy from  their  faces  how  they  will  look  when 
older." 

"Dunno    'bout   prophesyin',    Miss    Marion,    but 


KATHARINE   GRAY  l6l 

eberybody  can  reckon,  and  I's  reckoned  how  de 
Wild  fambly  gwine  look  and  gwine  act  when  dey 
don't  nobody  meddle  wid  dere  noses  or  dere  souls. 
And  I'm  dat  sho'  Miss  Gretta's  been  conjured.  Miss 
Gray  she  jis  got  her  own  self  twisted  all  in  and  out 
dar  'mongst  dat  chile's  idees.  Idees  dey's  like  de 
measles  or  de  ragin'  red  rash  ;  when  dey  breaks 
out  dey  shows  what  kind  er  pisen  was  bottled  up 
inside  de  chile." 

"  Stop,  stop,  Deborah !  I  cannot  hear  you  talk 
so.  Whatever  is  like  Mrs.  Gray  in  Gretta  is  like 
her  own  mother ;  and  she  could  not  be  sweeter  to 
me  if  she  were  altogether  like  the  Wilds.  I  did  not 
know  you  kept'  such  thoughts  in  your  heart." 

"  She  done  send  me  away  from  Massa  Larry's 
baby,  and  my  heart  done  broke.  I  don'  never  git 
over  it,  miss." 

"  But  think,  Deborah  ;  if  she  had  not  sent  you 
back,  who  would  have  cared  for  me  ?  And  she  has 
done  better  by  Gretta  than  we  could  have  done,  and 
now  you  have  her  back  again." 

"  I  knows,  I  knows,"  said  Debby,  throwing  her- 
self on  her  knees  by  Mrs.  Maitland's  sofa.  "  I's  bad, 
Miss  Marion,  I  is  wicked  sho',  but  I's  prayed  fo'  de 
Lawd.  But  dat  Miss  Gray  she  don't  love  Debby, 
and  Gretta  she  don't  love  me  like  de  fambly  always 
did  ;  and  if  you  s  gone,  Miss  Marion,  dey  two  won't 
want  me  roun'.  I  feels  it  in  my  bones  ;  I  knows  it. 
I  won't  be  no  'count.  Now  if  Miss  Gray  she  let 
me  wait  on  Miss  Gretta,  I  get  her  so  she  love  ole 
Debby  like  Massa  Larry  did.  And  mebby  I  get 
back  de  Wild  look  out'n  dat  chile's  eyes,  'cos  I's 
sho'  its  de  love  make  de  looks  ebery  time,  miss." 

L 


1 62  THE  TEMPTATION 

"  Then  we  will  keep  on  loving  her  with  all  our 
hearts,  Debby,  for  you  know  there  must  never  be 
anything  but  love  in  this  home.  You  remember 
once  upon  a  time  the  dear  Lord  came  with  his  arms 
open,  and  called  his  children  to  come  and  rest  on 
his  heart,  and  they  did  not  understand  how  much  he 
loved  them,  and  they  did  not  come,  and  did  not  know 
how  his  heart  ached  to  do  loving  things  for  them. 
When  it  seems  as  if  Gretta  didn't  know  or  seem  to 
feel  your  love  for  her,  I  want  you  to  try  to  remember 
him."  And  the  poor  old,  aching  heart  just  sobbed 
out  its  pain,  while  a  gentle,  white  hand  stroked  the 
black  one,  till  ashamed  of  her  weakness  Debby  rose 
and  stole  away,  comforted  as  we  all  are  comforted 
by  the  ministry  of  love.  Pausing  a  minute  at  the 
door,  hiding  her  eyes  in  her  apron  like  a  child  peni- 
tent and  ashamed,  she  said  : 

"  Don't  you  be  noways  unheartened  'bout  old 
Debby,  Miss  Marion  ;  you's  tried  and  tried  to  make 
me  good,  now  I's  boun'  to  be  good.  I's  gwine  love 
eberybody,  I's  gwine  love  Miss  Gray  till  she  jest 
divide  our  baby  and  give  me  back  my  share." 


CHAPTER  XII 

RADUALLY  increasing  feebleness  marked 
VJJ  the  next  two  years  for  Mrs.  Maitland,  and 
they  were  marked  also  by  a  constant  strengthening 
of  Mrs.  Gray's  position  in  the  dear  old  lady's  heart 
and  home.  These  were  also  Gretta's  last  years  of 
school  life,  interrupted  now  and  then  by  the  alarm- 
ing attacks  that  characterized  the  illness  of  the  aged 
friend  who,  as  her  activity  diminished,  clung  more 
and  more  dependently  to  these  two  who  had  come 
to  fill  the  place  of  all  the  dear  ones  lost  before. 

Meantime  Mrs.  Gray  had  continued  to  live  near, 
or  at  times  for  weeks  together  quite  within,  the 
school-family  of  one  hundred  girls  at  Castleton 
until  she  became  a  recognized  factor,  and  without 
specific  responsibility,  to  share  the  influence  of  the 
many  instructors  who  guarded  and  guided  the 
students  with  a  love  and  wisdom  not  always  found 
in  institutional  life. 

Whenever  Gretta  was  summoned  home  Katharine 
went  also,  but  each  time  she  lingered  longer,  for 
though  Mrs.  Maitland  scrupulously  avoided  making 
any  selfish  claim,  it  became  more  and  more  evident 
that  she  looked  upon  Katharine  as  quite  the  natural 
sharer  of  her  life. 

As  for  Gretta,  her  eager  young  mind  and  heart 
stirred  by  constant  contact  with  Mrs.  Maitland,  who 
held  her  steadily  to  the  Christian  standard  of  the 

163 


164  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

true  woman,  stimulated  by  inspiring  teachers,  them- 
selves all  alive  to  the  noblest  that  woman  might  be 
or  do,  with  companions  and  friends,  responsive  as 
herself  to  the  stimulation  of  the  student  atmos- 
phere, and,  last  of  all,  with  Katharine  urging  her 
on,  and  keeping  pace  with  her  in  a  kind  of  fever  of 
desire  to  know,  it  was  not  strange  that  she  came  to 
feel  that  the  college  course  was  the  only  one  that 
could  ever  satisfy  or  properly  fit  her  for  life. 

But  when  the  time  for  decision  came,  and  she 
knew  it  meant  still  more  years  away  from  Mrs. 
Maitland,  she  showed  in  this,  her  first  decision  for 
herself,  the  quality  and  fiber  of  her  nature.  She 
settled  it  once  for  all,  in  the  quiet  night-time,  in  the 
dear  room  set  apart  as  her  special  home-nest,  and 
held  ready  for  her,  years  before  she  ever  came.  It 
was  a  tower  room  which  Lawrence  had  occupied  in 
his  boyhood,  and  Debby  had  left  his  books,  his  fish- 
ing rods  and  gun,  his  dumb-bells,  and  all  the  photo- 
graphs of  himself  as  baby,  youth,  and  man  about 
the  walls.  It  was  here  that  he  had  knelt  one  solemn 
midnight  when  he  laid  down  his  boyish  dreams  of 
battles  with  the  world  as  a  soldier  or  a  statesman, 
and,  putting  on  the  whole  armor  of  God,  became  a 
soldier  of  the  Cross.  It  was  here  that  Gretta,  home 
for  the  Easter  holiday  with  her  head  and  heart  full 
of  college  plans,  had  come  to  lay  them  all  down 
after  one  look  at  a  patient,  fading  face. 

Of  her  great  hope  that  her  schooldays  might  be 
supplemented  by  a  college  course,  and  of  her  long- 
ing for  the  utmost  and  best  equipment  and  training 
that  woman  could  secure,  she  had  talked  rarely, 
except  to  Mrs.  Maitland,  who  had  sympathized  with 


KATHARINE   GRAY  165 

her  desire,  but  who  must,  on  no  account,  have  it 
obtruded  upon  her  now.  To  her  mother  in  these 
later  years,  notwithstanding  Katharine's  persistence 
in  sharing  her  work  and  plans,  she  found  it  more 
and  more  difficult  to  open  her  innermost  thought, 
though  she  constantly  blamed  herself  for  the  shrink- 
ing shyness  that,  without  meaning  to  do  so,  kept 
the  best  away  from  such  lovingly  watchful  eyes. 
Now  that  this  decision  was  reached  it  would  be  easy 
enough  to  say  to  her  that  she  had  given  up  the  hope 
of  college,  but  hard  enough  to  reveal  that  she  had 
done  so  only  after  struggle  and  earnest  prayer. 
Though  she  blamed  herself  often  for  this  unwilling, 
almost  unconscious  reticence,  she  never  guessed 
that  Katharine  felt  it  sorely,  or  suffered  when  she 
saw  how  naturally  the  nobler  side  of  Gretta's  nature 
turned  to  Mrs.  Maitland,  and  throve  best  in  the 
atmosphere  of  her  saintly  presence  and  life. 

The  subtle,  inward  separation  that  made  them 
both  avoid  any  allusions  to  religious  motive  or  pur- 
pose, that  passed  as  reserve  in  the  older  and  timidity 
in  the  younger  woman,  was  a  part  of  Katharine's 
penalty  of  pain.  And  she  accepted  it  and  trusted 
to  her  love  to  divine  what  Gretta  could  not  say. 
She  had  too  many  conflicts  herself,  to  fail  to  know 
the  signs  on  Gretta's  face  as  they  sat  over  their 
breakfast  the  day  after  their  arrival,  with  the  breath 
of  the  waving  honeysuckle  drifting  in  at  the  open 
window.  They  made  a  pleasant  home  picture,  the 
lovely  young  girl  and  Mrs.  Gray,  whose  pale,  proud 
face,  and  manner  of  gentle  reserve  were  well  suited 
to  the  place  she  held,  which  had  come  to  be  virtually 
that  of  mistress  in  the  beautiful  home. 


l66  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

Mrs.  Maitland  was  not  down.  The  respectful 
man-servant,  one  of  those  whom  Debby  said  she 
"fotched  up  way  down  Souf,"  had  left  the  room, 
and  Katharine,  watching  Gretta's  drooping  eyes, 
yet  careful  to  be  looking  some  other  way  if  the  lids 
lifted,  said  quietly  : 

"  I  see  you  have  given  up  the  college  plan? " 

"Yes,  auntie,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  smile,  "of 
course  after  I  saw  grandmamma  I  knew  it  could  not 
be  right  to  go." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  it,"  said  Katharine.  "  She 
is  not  strong,  but  then  she  is  not  young,  and  the 
physician  says  she  may  be  with  us  many  years. 
Her  danger  is  in  some  sudden  and  violent  attack. 
Without  these,  and  with  care,  she  has  another  long 
term  of  years." 

"  But  if  that  is  true,  and  she  is  happier  all  these 
years  for  having  me  home,  I  would  not  go." 

"  She  is  happy  when  you  are  away,  and  interested 
in  all  you  learn  or  do.  She  lets  the  care  all  come 
to  me  now,  and " 

"  That  is  another  reason  for  staying.  You  could 
not  be  there  and  study  with  me  as  you  have  done 
all  the  way  so  far." 

"  But  I  could  read  at  home,  and  we  could  share 
it  all  together  afterward.  I  want  you  to  go,  Gretta 
—I  want  you  to  have  all,  all,  all,"  she  added 
with  some  excitement,  "  that  the  world,  the  whole 
wide  world  can  give,  for  with  such  a  home  and 
health,  and  so  many  friends,  you  can  make  life 
whatever  you  will — can  lead  the  women  of  the 
nation  if  you  choose." 

"  Auntie  dear,  you  often  speak  like  that  to  me. 


KATHARINE  GRAY  167 

Why  should  one  care  to  lead  ?  It  seems  to  me 
there  are  always  leaders  enough,  too  many.  I 
would  like  to  be  intelligent  enough  to  know  what 
and  whom  to  follow." 

Katharine  lifted  her  brows  impatiently. 

"  You  would  be  content  to  follow  ?  " 

"  Yes,  auntie  dear,  I  would  ;  but  you — you  were 
made  for  a  leader.  Not  a  teacher  at  Castleton 
could  have  done  with  the  girls  what  you  could  have 
done  in  the  place  of  any  one  of  them.  You  could 
have  led  them  into  any  line  of  thought  and  life  you 
wished,  auntie,  and  the  girls  felt  it,  and  the  teach- 
ers felt  it.  Once  Madame  Crozier  told  me  that  if 
you  had  been  free,  and  grandmamma  had  not  needed 
you  so  often,  she  would  have  tried  to  induce  you  to 
take  some  position  in  the  management  that  would 
let  your  influence  reach  every  one  of  the  girls." 

"Stop,  stop,"  said  Katharine,  her  strong  face 
contracting  with  pain.  Yet,  even  in  the  shame  was 
mingled  a  triumph — her  child  was  not  ashamed,  and 
if  life  lasted  long  enough,  she  should  yet  be  proud 
of  her.  She  had  paid  an  awful  price.  Why  should 
she  abate  one  jot  or  tittle  of  that  which  it  could 
bring  ?  For  one  moment  she  forgot  herself  as  the 
cowardly  creature  who  should  grovel  in  very  shame, 
and  saw  herself  only  as  a  heroine  wresting  from 
the  world  that  which  was  her  right — that  of  which 
she  had  been  wrongfully  deprived.  "  A  leader  " 
why  not  ?  She  had  not  been  studying  the  world  of 
women  and  of  work  without  seeing  the  lack  of 
leadership  and  everywhere  the  blind  following  the 
blind.  On  every  hand  she  saw  the  impulsive,  ill- 
regulated,  undisciplined  forces  of  womanhood  ris- 


l68  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

ing  to  battle  with  the  world's  sore  problems  of 
misery  and  sin.  She  saw  the  spasmodic,  the  boast- 
ful, the  showy  surface  struggles  carried  on  under 
flaunting  flags  of  personal  vanity,  upheld  by  inter- 
changes of  flatteries,  or  cloaked  in  borrowed  rai- 
ment. She  saw  grand  endeavors  sink,  plunging 
helplessly  in  sloughs  of  simple  ignorance.  She  saw 
aspiration  and  enthusiasm  dying  for  lack  of  guid- 
ance as  to  practical  purpose  and  method,  and  on 
the  other  hand,  noble  work  dying  for  lack  of  aspira- 
tion and  enthusiasm. 

She  followed  with  keen  eyes  the  threads  of  per- 
sonal ambition,  the  love  of  prominence,  the  vanity, 
the  envy,  the  self-seeking  that  women  went  on 
weaving  consciously  or  unconsciously  into  their 
"  garments  of  praise  "  ;  and  she  knew,  none  better, 
that  every  such  thread  would  find  its  way,  soon  or 
late,  into  the  sackcloth  that  awaited  them  in  the 
sure  coming  day  of  their  shame.  And  yet  she 
kept  in  her  heart  a  kind  of  feverish  sense  that  the 
good  she  might  do  with  the  power  she  might  win 
could  be  made  to  offset,  if  it  could  not  overcome, 
the  evils  that  had  conquered  her.  Gretta's  words, 
the  comment  of  the  teachers,  she  knew  they  were 
true.  Give  her  her  position,  the  home,  the  knowl- 
edge of  affairs,  and  the  needs  of  the  people  which 
the  bravest  women  souls  seemed  to  be  gaining,  and 
she  would  justify  by  her  use  of  them  the  means  she 
had  taken  to  gain  them  all.  Like  a  flash  there  came 
upon  her  the  full  realization  of  how  much  she  had 
secured  already.  Years  of  study  and  books,  this 
lovely  home  at  whose  head  she  seemed  more  and 
more  to  belong,  the  means  that  surely  would  be 


KATHARINE   GRAY  169 

forthcoming  from  Mrs.  Maitland  to  further  any 
grand  work,  and  whatever  Gretta  might  gain  of  in- 
fluence would  also  be  her  own. 

It  takes  long  to  tell  it,  it  took  but  one  moment — 
while  she  sat  in  quiet  dignity  at  the  head  of  the 
table  watching  the  young  girl's  face  half  hidden  by 
the  white  plumes  of  the  lilacs  that  nodded  between 
them — for  her  soul  to  pass  over  a  borderland  where 
her  sin  and  thought  and  hope  had  all  been  for  love 
of  her  child,  into  a  "worse  place  than  the  first,"  a 
place  where  her  soul  no  longer  shrank  back  regret- 
fully, but  leaped  forward  to  enjoy,  for  herself  and 
in  herself,  the  fruits  of  her  wrongdoing.  "  I  think 
you  should  decide  on  the  college  course,"  she  said. 

"  But  I  have  already  decided,  Aunt  Katharine  ; 
I  have  given  it  up  once  for  all." 

"Then  it  seems  that  the  woman  who  could  in- 
fluence '  all  the  girls,'  fails  to  influence  the  one  she 
loves  the  best." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Gretta,  eagerly,  coming  swiftly 
over  to  Katharine's  side  and  taking  both  her  hands. 
For  a  moment  she  searched  the  elder  face  with 
troubled,  questioning  eyes.  "  The  whole  thing  is  in  a 
word,  auntie ;  I  love  you  for  wanting  me  to  have 
every  chance,  I  hate  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  am 
not  very  clever.  I  shall  never  be  a  great  woman 
such  as  you  could  have  made,  or  such  as  you  really 
are,"  she  added,  with  a  kiss;  "but  I-want  to  be 
good,  auntie,  and  I  don't  think  a  good  woman  could 
take  four  more  years  out  of  this  precious  old  life 
that  has  given  me  everything.  I  am  sorry  ;  I  shall 
do  my  best  to  learn  with  you,  auntie ;  I  shall  study 
with  you  all  the  ways  of  women's  work,  and  try  to 


170  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

learn  all  one  ought  to  know  in  order  to  do  it,  in — 
her  voice  faltered  and  fell,  "in  His  way,  auntie." 
Katharine  winced.  "  I  don't  believe  any  of  our 
ways  can  be  so  very  great  or  wise  or  important  in 
results.  I  want  to  find  out  the  ways  in  which  he 
would  have  us  deal  with  all  those  things  if  he  dwelt 
here  now,  in  the  midst  of  them.  I  can  learn  so 
much  of  grandmamma,  and  of  you  too,  auntie." 

"  We  need  not  talk  of  it,"  said  Katharine,  sadly, 
a  faint  touch  of  frigidity  in  the  tone ;  "  I  have  been 
thinking  that  college  was  what  you  longed  for,  I 
see  I  was  mistaken,"  and  she  gently  and  coldly 
withdrew  her  hands.  A  deep  flush  swept  to 
Gretta's  forehead  ;  should  she  tell  her  how  much 
she  longed  ?  Should  she  tell  her  of  the  victory 
over  her  desire  won  by  her  bedside  in  the  silent 
night  ?  She  tried,  but  the  words  would  not  come. 

"  I  do  want  it,  auntie,"  she  whispered,  quick  tears 
springing  to  her  eyes,  "  but,  most  of  all,  I  want  to  do 
the  thing  that  is  right." 

And  after  that  the  subject  was  utterly  dropped 
between  them.  The  two  who  were  always  strug- 
gling to  draw  nearer  and  nearer  together,  had 
drifted  still  farther  apart. 

These  Easter  days  were  Gretta's  last  at  home, 
and  Mrs.  Maitland  was  anxious  to  fill  them  with 
delight  if  possible.  She  was  still  able  to  bear  the 
part  of  a  kindly  presiding  genius  over  many  of  the 
gayeties  that  revived  in  the  old  house  the  hospital- 
ity of  its  earlier  time. 

Gretta  had  always  been  encouraged  to  bring 
home  for  the  holidays  her  favorite  schoolmates  or 
others  who  might  enjoy  the  visit,  and  many  a  home- 


KATHARINE  GRAY  171 

sick  girl  had  written  glowing  letters  to  her  parents, 
in  the  far  South  or  distant  West,  telling  of  the 
lovely  welcome  of  Wildholm,  where  Mrs.  Maitland 
and  Mrs.  Gray  and  Gretta  united  to  fill  the  house 
with  everything  that  was  attractive  and  dear  to  the 
young. 

And  no  woman  better  knew  what  young  people 
would  enjoy,  or  provided  pleasures  with  more  lavr 
ish  hand.  Mrs.  Maitland  had  a  gift  amounting  al- 
most to  genius  for  comprehension  and  sympathy, 
and,  after  the  first  visit,  it  seemed  as  if  every  young 
person  was  her  guest  and  a  sharer  with  Gretta  of 
her  motherly  love  and  care. 

The  young  girls  told  her  freely  about  their  home- 
sickness and  their  lessons,  their  bonnets  and  their 
beaux  ;  and  the  young  men,  before  they  knew  it, 
had  confided  to  her  their  ambitions  and  aspira- 
tions, their  love  affairs,  their  struggles,  and,  in 
more  than  one  case,  their  failures  and  their  sins  ;  for 
the  woman's  character  created  an  atmosphere  in 
which  the  noblest  things  in  human  nature  sprang 
upward  toward  the  light. 

It  was  a  lovely  sight,  at  the  end  of  a  day  of  joy- 
ous festivity,  to  see  the  group  of  strong  men  and 
lovely  maidens  that  gathered  for  a  few  minutes  in 
the  twilight,  joining  like  boys  and  girls  of  one 
household,  in  even-song  and  prayer. 

At  this  hour  came  old  Debby,  in  scarlet  turban 
and  kerchief,  leading  the  procession  of  maids,  and 
the  gardener  and  the  coachman  and  old'Lijah, 
whose  fringe  of  white  wool  was  like  a  silver  halo 
about  his  bald,  bronze  head. 

And  at  this  hour  too  came  the  weary  and  aged 


172  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

ones,  the  mothers  with  little  children  clinging 
timidly  to  their  gowns,  the  people  who  might  be  at 
the  time  among  the  homeless  or  overworked  with 
whom  Mrs.  Maitland  kept  the  west  wing  filled.  And 
blending  with  the  soft  minor  of  the  dark- faced  wor- 
shipers, and  the  timid,  quaking  notes  of  those  the 
music  of  whose  hearts  was  silenced  long  ago,  rose 
the  fresh  voices  of  these  young  and  happy  souls 
who  forgot  it  for  a  moment  if  they  were  not  in 
truth  devout. 

Some  of  them  knew  quite  well  what  it  was  "  to 
skip  church  "  and  college  chapel,  but  this  was  dif- 
ferent somehow,  and  yet  it  was  only  the  old-fashion- 
ened  Southern  home,  a  Christian  home  that  had  set 
"  God  in  the  midst,"  and  included  him,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  in  its  pleasures  as  well  as  its  pain. 

These  home  gatherings  of  young  people  had 
always  been  made  the  occasion  of  delightful  enter- 
tainments, whether  for  purely  social  and  festive  pur- 
poses or  for  the  furtherance  of  some  charity  dear  to 
Mrs.  Maitland,  who  could  not  devise  ways  enough  to 
give  all  the  pleasure  her  heart  desired  to  the  child 
of  her  old  age.  At  this  time  the  house  was  not 
only  well  filled  with  girls,  but  many  of  them  had 
brought,  by  Mrs.  Maitland's  invitation,  a  brother  or 
a  cousin,  or  a  brother's  or  a  cousin's  friend. 

The  house  party  was  so  large  that  it  overflowed 
even  into  the  old  west  wing,  filling  all  the  vacant 
rooms  though  not  allowed,  even  temporarily,  to  dis- 
lodge the  favored  inmates,  whom  Mrs.  Maitland 
called  "the  wayfarers  of  God."  The  guests  made 
not  only  a  very  merry  but  a  very  happy  group  as 
the  rustle  of  arrival  and  greetings  over  they  came 


KATHARINE   GRAY  173 

together  in  the  parlor  before  dinner  on  Easter 
eve. 

"  Grandmamma  is  not  able  to  be  with  us  through 
dinner,"  said  Gretta,  as  she  passed  from  group  to 
group  ;  "  but  she  always  tries  to  meet  us  for  pray- 
ers in  the  library,"  and  there  the  old  friends  and  the 
new  crowded  around  the  woman  on  whose  face 
neither  sorrow,  nor  care,  nor  time  could  quench 
the  love,  which  is  after  all  the  secret  of  eternal 
youth. 

She  sat  in  the  high-backed  carved  oak  chair  that 
her  father  had  used  in  the  Southern  home  when  she 
was  a  little  child,  her  white  hair  indeed  a  crown  of 
glory,  and  her  kind  welcome  scarcely  less  warm  for 
the  old  friends  than  for  those  whom  Gretta  now 
brought  to  her  for  the  first  time. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  group,  waiting  till  Gretta 
could  present  her,  was  a  dark,  slender  girl  with  a  face 
that  was  such  a  strange  combination  of  reserve  and 
pride  and  tender  sweetness  as  made  one  inevitably 
look  again  to  see  which  she  really  was  of  the  two 
women  she  seemed  to  be.  "  It  is  one  face  in  the 
shadow,  another  in  the  light,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland, 
as  her  old  friend  Dr.  Moore  called  her  attention  to 
its  swift-changing  beauty.  "  I  fancy  she  is  the 
new  teacher  about  whom  Gretta  has  been  raving." 

"  Here  she  is,  grandmamma.  This  is  our  dear 
Miss  Graham,  who  has  come  to  take  the  place  of 
our  old  singing  teacher  who  married  last  term.  I 
am  so  glad  she  could  escape,  and  that  we  can  have 
her  here  away  from  all  that  crowd  of  schoolgirls." 

"And  I  am  glad  too,  my  dear,"  she  said,  holding 
out  both  hands  to  Gretta,  and  including  both  in  her 


174  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

smile.  "  If  Miss  Graham  knew  how  the  house  had 
rung  with  praises  from  an  enthusiastic  girl,  she 
would  hear  them  echoing  from  the  very  walls. 
Stay  here  by  me,  my  child,  till  after  prayers,  I  want 
to  make  sure  you  have  really  come.  Gretta  feared 
you  would  escape." 

"  Indeed  I  have  thought  of  little  else  since  your 
lovely  invitation,"  said  the  girl,  dropping  into  a  low 
seat  almost  at  Mrs.  Maitland's  feet.  "  I  only  hesi- 
tated because — 

"  Because  what,  my  dear  ? "  asked  the  old  lady, 
softly,  for  the  old  butler  had  laid  the  open  Bible  on 
her  lap,  and  the  company  was  quietly  disposing  it- 
self for  worship. 

"  Why  I  am  the  youngest  teacher  at  Castleton, 
and  have  been  there  so  few  months  that  I  feared 
the  others  might  resent  my  coming  for  the  week, 
the  whole  week,  when  they  are  only  invited  for  the 
night  of  the  party." 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  you  gave  yourself  trouble  for  noth- 
ing. It  is  better  to  believe  that  people  rejoice  with 
us  than  that  they  envy  us." 

"  But  I  haven't  found  that  true,"  said  the  girl, 
her  face  clouding. 

"  But  in  this  case  it  is  so.  The  teachers,  in  ac- 
cepting my  invitation,  have  several  of  them  said 
how  glad  they  were  that  we  could  have  you.  We 
know  them  and  love  them  all,  but  our  Gretta  seems 
to  have  lost  her  heart  entirely  to  you." 

"  You  are  both  so  good  to  me,"  murmured  the 
girl,  and  then  her  eyes  caught  the  group  of  ser- 
vants filing  in,  and  after  them  the  little  group  of 
friends,  tidy  and  silent,  who  looked  as  if  they  might 


KATHARINE   GRAY  175 

be  the  poor  relations  of  the  other  guests  out  of  one 
generation  farther  back.  It  was  such  an  unusual 
sight  that  Miss  Graham  watched  it  fascinated.  She 
knew  that  Mrs.  Maitland  used  a  portion  of  her  home 
for  those  who  would  be  homeless  without  it,  but 
this  was  so  strange,  this  meeting  of  rich  and  poor 
together,  that  she  hardly  gave  heed  to  the  voice 
that  read  on  and  on,  until  it  ended  with  : 

'"The  Lord' thy  God  in  the  midst  of  thee  is 
mighty;  he  will  save,  he  will  rejoice  over  thee  with 
joy ;  he  will  rest  in  his  love,  he  will  joy  over  thee 
with  singing.' ' 

Her  eyes  lifted  to  meet  Gretta's  fixed  on  her 
with  great  gratification  that  she  had  her  here  at  last 
near  grandmamma,  in  the  very  seat  at  her  feet 
where  no  one  had  ever  sat  save  Gretta  herself  be- 
fore. She  was  so  happy  to  have  it  so  for  Gretta, 
who  having  Mrs.  Gray  as  the  companion  for  her 
mind  and  Mrs.  Maitland  for  her  heart,  had  escaped 
hitherto  the  intimacies  with  other  girls  that  some- 
times fill  a  girl's  life  full  to  the  brim,  until  the  time 
when  it  is  filled  with  the  one  great  love  of  her  life. 

Suddenly,  Gretta  too  became  conscious  of  the 
words  that  fell  reverently  from  Mrs.  Maitland's 
lips  :  "  The  Lord  thy  God  in  the  midst  of  thee  is 
mighty ;  he  will  save,  he  will  rejoice  over  thee  with 
joy  ;  he  will  rest  in  his  love." 

Why  should  he  not  ?  It  was  such  a  glorious 
thing  to  love,  to  have  some  one  to  love.  Why 
should  not  God  rest  and  rejoice  when  he  loved 
so  much  ?  Surely  she  was  rejoicing  and  resting  in 
her  love.  Then,  all  through  the  brief  evening 
prayer  she  was  asking  the  same  question : 


176  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  How  could  one  love  and  not  rejoice  ? "  Just 
then  she  heard  the  voice  of  Doctor  Moore,  who  had 
been  asked  to  pray,  saying,  "  For  all  whom  we  love, 
who  are  in  sickness,  sorrow,  temptation,  danger,  or 

c  i  rj 

Why,  yes  :  there  was  the  secret.  That  changed 
everything  of  course,  if  the  one  beloved  was  in  sor- 
row, or  pain,  or  sin.  Then  how  could  God  rejoice 
and  rest  when  almost  all  of  those  he  loved  were  in 
one  trouble  or  another  ?  A  little  thankful  thrill 
went  through  her  heart :  "  Her  own  dear  grand- 
mamma was  surely  looking  better,  and  auntie  and 
this  new  friend,  Margaret  Graham,  were  neither  of 
them  in  sore  trouble."  These  were  the  three  she 
loved  most,  and  all  was  well  with  them.  She  could 
both  rest  and  rejoice  in  her  love.  There  was  no 
time  to  question  whether  he,  the  God  she  tried  to 
love  with  all  her  heart,  could  find  her  so  free  from 
evil  and  pain  that  he  could  have  joy  in  his  love 
before  the  prayer  was  at  an  end. 

They  were  singing  now,  and  Miss  Graham's 
voice,  clear  and  sweet,  was  soaring  away  up  and 
out,  and  the  other  voices  all  seemed  to  rest  and 
float  upward  upon  it,  as  if  it  were  a  winged  thing 
that  could  bear  their  praises  to  the  very  gate  of 
heaven. 

As  they  passed  out  to  dinner  Gretta  had  the 
comfort  of  seeing  more  than  one  young  man  glance 
at  Miss  Graham  as  if  he  were  glad  of  the  good  for- 
tune that  brought  him  within  sound  of  her  voice. 

It  had  not  fallen  to  one  of  these  youths  to  take 
her  out,  however;  but  to  Dr.  Moore,  a  friend  of 
Mrs.  Maitland,  a  physician  already  well  known 


KATHARINE  GRAY  177 

among  scientists  as  a  specialist  in  diseases  of  the 
brain  and  nervous  system. 

Mrs.  Maitland  had  seen  much  of  him  in  her  re- 
cent years  abroad  while  he  was  still  studying  in 
the  hospitals  in  Paris  and  Germany.  On  one  occa- 
sion she  believed  his  prompt  and  devoted  attention 
and  rapid  and  exhausting  journey  to  come  to  her 
had  saved  her  in  an  illness  that  had  overtaken  her 
in  Rome.  She  still  loved  to  call  him  "  my  doctor," 
and  no  matter  how  hurried  his  trips  to  Washing- 
ton, he  never  left  without  spending  some  time  with 
her.  Now  he  had  come  to  remain,  and  Mrs.  Mait- 
land claimed  him  whenever  there  was  respite  from 
his  always  engrossing  work,  as  one  she  had  come  to 
know  and  to  trust,  as  she  felt  sure  everybody  must 
who  understood  the  heart  that  revealed  itself  in 
face  and  voice  and  touch. 

Broad-shouldered,  long-limbed,  his  dark  hair 
tossed  back  loosely  in  German  fashion,  he  was  a 
contrast  to  the  slender  youths  around  the  board, 
and  made  them  seem  like  boys.  With  Miss 
Graham,  who  had  not  been  long  home  from  musical 
studies  in  Germany,  he  was  soon  over  the  water, 
telling  her  of  some  of  the  strange  psychological 
cases  that  had  interested  him  in  his  student  life, 
and  had  led  him  to  choose  as  special  studies  dis- 
eases of  the  brain  and  nerves. 

"  But  I  must  be  forgiven  for  professional  talk," 
he  said,  turning  to  Mrs.  Gray  ;  "  the  fact  that  the 
subject  becomes  absorbing  makes  no  excuse  for  its 
intrusion." 

"  Nothing  could  be  more  interesting,"  said  Miss 
Graham,  who  had  been  listening  intently.  "  What 

M 


178  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

were  you  saying  of  a  case  you  had  just  brought  to 
Washington  ?  "  she  added,  and  thus  encouraged  he 
went  on  : 

"  I  was  saying  that  Mrs.  Maitland  had  become 
much  interested  in  a  case  I  discovered  in  a  Western 
hospital.  I  was  talking  to  her  about  it  when  I  was 
on  here  last,  and  she  told  me  I  might  bring  the 
patient  here.  I  wanted  to  try  change  of  air  and 
scene,  and  to  see  if  they  would  produce  any  men- 
tal change.  I  brought  the  poor  thing  on  with  me, 
and  she  is  comfortably  asleep  by  this  time  in  that 
blessed  old  west  wing." 

"A  woman  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Gray,  with  interest. 

"  Yes,  a  little  white,  thin  woman  with  a  gentle 
face,  and  such  lovely,  longing  eyes  as  make  one's 
heart  ache.  We  arrived  this  evening,  and  the  west 
wing  nurse  put  her  to  bed  ;  and  after  a  rest,  as  she 
seemed  none  the  worse  for  the  journey  and  I 
wanted  to  see  the  effect  of  new  faces  upon  her,  I 
let  her  come  down  to  prayers." 

"  She  is  not  insane  I  hope  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Gray, 
"though  really  I  do  not  know  as  Mrs.  Maitland 
would  hesitate,  if  she  thought  the  poor  thing  needed 
a  home,  to  turn  the  west  wing  into  an  asylum." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  the  doctor  gently,  but  with  a 
long,  slow,  puzzled  look  at  Mrs.  Gray,  "  I  am  sure 
she  could  be  trusted  not  to  let  her  goodness  over- 
come her  judgment  ;  but  I  should  be  surely  inex- 
cusable if  I  let  any  temptation  of  that  sort  come  in 
her  way."  Katharine  changed  color  slightly,  but 
he  went  on  as  if  he  did  not  see.  "  She  suffered 
from  a  blow  on  the  head  that  would  naturally  have 
resulted  in  paralysis  of  the  nerves  of  motion.  It 


KATHARINE  GRAY  179 

did  not ;  but  she  was  unconscious  for  days,  and 
when  she  came  to  herself  everything  seemed  wiped 
out  of  her  mind  between  her  early  womanhood  and 
the  time  of  her  accident,  and  she  has  remained 
almost  silent  ever  since,  though  the  organs  of 
speech  are  not  in  the  least  impaired. 

"  She  recalls  her  child,  her  marriage,  her  hus- 
band's death,  will  talk  to  or  about  children,  but 
when  you  repeat  the  very  names  she  uses  they  do 
not  seem  to  convey  any  meaning  to  her  mind,  and 
she  does  not  seem  to  know  whether  people  we  bring 
to  her  are  the  same  she  has  been  talking  of  and  call- 
ing for  herself." 

"  Poor  thing !  how  could  she  be  cared  for  ? " 
asked  Margaret,  her  sympathy  making  her  dark  face 
radiant. 

"  She  has  been  kept  on  and  on  in  the  hospital ; 
has  made  a  lovely  nurse  for  little  children.  A 
friend  of  mine  who  studied  with  me  abroad  was  in 
charge  there,  and  he  wanted  me  to  see  her.  I 
want  to  leave  her  here  and  see  what  effect  new  im- 
pressions will  produce  upon  her  brain." 

"  You  will  go  away  and  leave  her  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Gray. 

"  Yes,  but  only  for  a  few  days.  When  I  return 
I  hope  to  remain  in  Washington  permanently.  I 
count  myself  happy  to  have  struck  this  holiday 
time,"  he  said.  "  In  a  life  like  mine  that  con- 
stantly sees  suffering  in  one  form  or  another,  one 
almost  forgets  the  world  is  not  old  and  all  awry. 
It  does  one  good  to  see  people  young  and  happy 
and  gay.  Miss  Gretta  has  promised  me  another 
gallop  over  the  hills,  and  Mrs.  Maitland  says  I  may 


l8o  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

come  often  and  bring  a  friend  of  mine,  another  fel- 
low who  works  too  hard  and  plays  too  little,  to  see 
if  we  cannot  grow  young  again,  seeing  how  festive 
you  all  will  be  at  the  party  she  tells  me  she  will 
give  next  week.  By  the  way,  is  this  to  be  Miss 
Gretta's  introduction  into  the  social  life  of  Wash- 
ington ? " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  promptly.  "  Gretta 
is  still  in  school,  and  will,  I  trust,  decide  on  some 
years  yet  in  college." 

Harold  Moore  glanced  at  her  as  she  sat  at  the 
table  dividing  her  merry  words  and  smiles  between 
two  youths  with  close  cropped  heads  and  the  high- 
est of  collars  and  the  latest  cut  of  evening  attire. 

"  She  looks  too  good  to  waste  herself  on  books 
and  boys,"  he  added  under  his  breath.  "  I  really 
know  of  but  one  man  in  the  world  who  is  worthy 
of  a  girl  like  that,  and  that's  the  friend  I  am  going 
to  bring  to  her  festa" 

"  It  is  not  her  festa,  though  Mrs.  Maitland 
has  always  made  her  holidays  lovely  for  Gretta. 
This  year,  I  think,  doctor,"  she  added  in  a  lower 
tone,  "  that  she  feared  she  might  not  be  here  in  the 
autumn  at  the  proper  time  for  introducing  Gretta 
to  her  friends.  I  think  she  constantly  measures 
her  own  strength  to  see  how  long  she  can  make  it 
last.  She  has  not  said  it,  but  I  can  tell  by  the 
character  of  the  invitations  that  she  means  Gretta 
to  meet  many  of  her  old  friends  at  the  same  time 
that  she  gives  her  the  old  pleasant  holiday  time  with 
her  companions.  The  party  occurs  upon  her  own 
birthday." 

"  Ah,  indeed  ? "  he  said  with  an  air  of  extreme 


KATHARINE   GRAY  l8l 

interest.  "  I  should  be  sorry  to  have  Mrs.  Mait- 
land  come  to  limit  her  stay  in  her  own  mind.  I 
have  seen  her  a  good  deal  in  illness,  and  I  hope  and 
believe  she  has  many  years  of  life.  God  grant  it, 
surely,"  he  added,  fervently,  "  for  the  sake  of  this 
suffering  world.  It  does  not  hold  another  like 
her!" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  Easter  was  a  radiant  day.  After  the  morn- 
ing service  came  the  old-fashioned  midday 
dinner.  The  afternoon  was  warm  enough  for  tea 
to  be  served  on  the  broad  western  veranda. 
Through  the  trees  could  be  seen  a  gleam  of  the 
distant  river  and  the  towers  and  domes  of  the  city, 
aglow  in  the  evening  sun.  This  veranda,  par- 
tially enclosed  by  glass,  was  Mrs.  Maitland's  favor- 
ite resting-place,  and  here  they  gathered  once  more 
after  the  tea  service  was  removed,  for  evening 
prayer.  Again  Harold  Moore  was  asked  to  con- 
duct the  service,  and  again  Miss  Graham's  voice 
led  the  singing,  which  no  one  seemed  willing 
should  cease.  Hymn  after  hymn  floated  out  upon 
the  air,  while  the  sunset  deepened  into  twilight, 
until,  led  by  Mrs.  Maitland,  one  after  another  an- 
nounced his  or  her  favorite  hymn,  and  there  drifted 
out  upon  the  night  the  old  familiar  plantation 
strains  which  Debby  loved,  followed  by  "  Rock  of 
Ages,"  "Jesus,  Lover  of  My  Soul,"  and  ending 
after  an  hour  that  was  verily  one  of  peace,  with 
"  Lead,  kindly  Light !  amid  the  encircling  gloom." 
And  all  the  while  there  sat  in  the  shadow  of  one 
of  the  great  white  pillars,  among  the  friends  who 
had  come  in  from  the  west  wing,  a  little  white,  thin 
woman,  with  hungry,  longing  eyes,  that  watched 
Mrs.  Maitland's  face,  as  if  she  saw  in  its  large  lov- 
182 


KATHARINE   GRAY  183 

ingness  some  likeness  to  the  ideal  of  the  Mother  of 
Sorrows,  which  she  always  carried  in  her  heart. 
Through  her  thin  ringers  slipped  nervously  all  the 
time  the  beads  of  her  rosary,  and  her  lips  mur- 
mured, as  if  she  were  beseeching  all  the  saints  in 
turn  to  forgive  her  for  being  so  peaceful  and  so  at 
rest  in  the  heart  of  this  Protestant  home. 

When  she  came  in  she  had  separated  herself 
from  the  other  women,  and  had  taken  a  seat  as 
close  to  Doctor  Moore  as  possible,  looking  up  con- 
fidingly into  his  face,  as  if  she  saw  there  assurance 
of  protection  and  strength.  His  eyes  kept  kindly 
watch  upon  her,  when  he  could  take  them  from  the 
face  of  the  singer,  on  whose  voice  seemed  to  be 
floating  out  the  religious  fervor  and  feeling  con- 
cerning which  his  lips,  though  not  his  life,  were 
dumb. 

His  mind  was  conscious  of  a  threefold  process, 
one  part  of  which  watched  and  enjoyed  with  a  new 
and  eager  delight  the  face  and  voice  of  the  singer, 
while  the  strong  religious  life  that  was  at  the  basis 
of  his  almost  limitless  goodness  to  everything  that 
suffered,  found  keen  enjoyment  in  this  simple  mode 
of  musical  worship ;  and  the  professional  side  of 
the  man  was  yet  conscious  of  watching  all  the 
while  the  effect  of  the  hour  and  the  change  upon 
the  withered  little  woman  by  his  side. 

As  the  group  broke  up,  and  a  murmur  of  pleas- 
ant talk  began  to  fill  the  place,  the  servants  and  the 
west  wing  people  withdrew,  the  silent  little  woman 
following  with  the  rest.  But  as  she  passed  down 
the  steps,  Mrs.  Gray  ascended  them,  coming  up 
from  the  seat  under  the  trees,  where  she  had  been 


184  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

listening  in  silence  to  the  hymns.  At  this  point 
the  bright  light  of  the  hall  lamp  streamed  out 
across  the  veranda,  and  in  its  glare  the  faces  of 
the  two  women  shone  each  upon  the  other,  and  in 
that  flash  the  white  face  grew  whiter,  and  the  old 
woman  lifted  her  hand  to  her  head,  as  if  suddenly 
overcome  by  the  helplessness  and  horror  of  some 
frightful  dream. 

The  doctor  saw  it  all,  and  saw  also  the  swift  change 
that  swept  in  a  wave  of  deathly  pallor  across  the 
face  of  Mrs.  Gray.  Shaken  with  a  strange  shud- 
dering, she  grasped  the  railing,  and  then,  as  she 
saw  Dr.  Moore  moving  with  outstretched  hand  to 
support  her,  she  suddenly  turned  her  back  to  the 
light  and  moved  steadily  down  the  garden  path  into 
the  gathering  gloom. 

Once  in  the  shadow  she  grasped  the  back  of  a 
rustic  seat  and  clung,  for  an  instant,  as  if  the  shud- 
dering soul  had  shaken  all  strength  from  her  limbs. 
In  that  instant  Dr.  Moore  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  waiting  figure.  He  was  by  her  side  as  she 
sank  upon  the  bench,  and  bending  over  her,  he 
said  : 

"  You  must  pardon  my  following  you,  but  you 
looked  so  ill  ;  you  might  faint  here  all  alone." 

"  Thank  you,  it  was  very  kind,"  she  murmured. 
"  I  was  faint,  but  it  is  passing  now." 

"  But  let  me  do  something  for  you,  let  me  help 
you  to  the  house,"  he  said,  at  the  same  time  laying 
his  fingers  gently  upon  her  hand,  and  touching  the 
fluttering  wrist.  "  Here,  take  this,"  and  he  gave 
her  a  small  vial  from  his  pocket.  "  Drink  it  all," 
he  added,  seeing  that  she  hesitated,  "  I  keep  it 


KATHARINE   GRAY  185 

about  me  for  just  such  little  emergencies  as  this. 
Come  now,  or  if  you  like  the  fresh  air,  let  me  send 
Miss  Wild  to  you." 

"  No,  no,  I  will  go  to  my  room.  This  way,  doc- 
tor, not  through  the  library,"  and  leaning  on  him 
she  yet  guided  him  through  the  conservatory  to  a 
door  which  opened  into  the  large  hall. 

"  I  can  go  alone  now,  thank  you,"  she  said,  paus- 
ing at  the  top  of  the  staircase.  "  I  do  not  like  to 
spoil  their  pleasure  by  having  any  one  notice  that  I 
am  ill,"  but  he  stood  by  the  door  and  watched  her 
as,  tottering  and  feeble,  like  one  suddenly  stricken 
with  age,  she  went  slowly  down  the  corridor  and 
closed  the  door  of  her  room. 

"  She  has  had  a  blow  of  some  kind,  that's  cer- 
tain," muttered  the  doctor,  as  he  made  his  way 
back  toward  the  library,  "and,  if  I'm  not  mistaken, 
so  did  my  patient  also,"  and  acting  on  that  second 
thought,  he  turned  back  and  walked  with  resolute 
step  down  the  green  aisles  of  the  conservatory. 

For  a  moment  only  he  lingered  within  sound  of 
the  tinkle  of  the  fountains,  within  sight  of  the 
moonlit  sky,  showing  through  an  arabesque  of 
green  vine  leaves  that  had  strayed  to  the  very  sum- 
mit of  the  glass  dome.  The  air  was  heavy  with 
the  fragrance  of  flowers  ;  the  whole  spot  resting  in 
a  peaceful  Sabbath  hush  that  so  touched  and  stirred 
his  soul  as  to  make  him  wish  the  beauty  and  the 
silence  and  the  sweetness  might  be  shared.  And 
the  woman  with  whom  he  would  have  been  glad  to 
share  it — whose  presence  would  have  doubled  its 
sweetness  was  back  there  on  the  veranda,  singing 
her  heart  out  into  the  radiant  night. 


1 86  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

Brief  as  was  the  moment  of  rest  and  charm,  it 
was  long  enough  for  a  revelation  of  himself  to  him- 
self, long  enough  for  him  to  know,  that  between  the 
rough  sea  of  labor  on  which  he  had  been  tossing  so 
many  years,  and  the  wider  sea  of  service  to.  human- 
ity stretching  before  him,  there  was  one  difference 
that  meant  all  the  world  to  him.  On  the  sea  just 
passed  it  had  mattered  little  that  he  breasted  the 
breakers  alone ;  he  had  scarcely  realized  that  he 
was  alone  ;  but  now  he  felt  with  a  sudden  pang  how 
hard  it  would  be  to  go  on  to  the  end  without  an- 
other face,  another  voice,  another  form  to  go  down 
into  the  depths,  or  to  ride  the  crest  of  the  waves 
with  him.  And  as  he  stood  there  dreaming,  the 
moon  smiled  down,  and  the  blossoms  gave  out  their 
breath  of  fragrance,  and  the  fountains  tinkled,  and 
the  singing  voice  went  on  and  on.  Nothing  with- 
out was  changed,  and  yet  for  this  strong  man  noth- 
ing henceforth  could  ever  be  quite  the  same.  He 
was  not  much  given  to  dreams,  and  from  this  one 
moved  forward  after  a  moment  to  the  little  porch 
that  led  to  the  entrance  of  the  west  wing. 

If  everything  in  the  old  part  of  the  house  at 
Wildholm  was  substantial  and  a  little  somber, 
everything  here  in  the  west  wing  made  up  for  it 
in  the  fresh  brightness  of  the  surroundings  pro- 
vided for  the  weary  and  suffering  lives.  A  charm- 
ing living  room,  with  cages  of  bright-winged  birds 
and  flowering  plants  in  the  windows,  with  bright 
pictures  of  sunny  landscapes  and  of  happy  children 
at  their  play,  upon  the  walls  ;  and  on  beyond  this, 
pleasant  room  after  pleasant  room,  each  with  its 
occupant  free  and  happy  and  at  home.  It  was  a 


KATHARINE   GRAY  187 

home  within  a  home.  Gentle  nurses  moved  quietly 
about,  and  the  atmosphere,  even  in  the  evening 
light,  seemed  full  of  a  blessed  peace. 

In  the  sunny  room  assigned  to  his  white-haired 
patient,  the  doctor  found  her,  not  asleep  as  he 
hoped,  but  awake  and  tossing  restlessly  upon  her 
pillow,  the  beads  continually  slipping  on  and  on  in 
her  ever-restless  hands.  He  spoke  gently  to  her, 
as  if  she  had  been  a  child,  laid  his  large,  cool  hand 
upon  her  head,  and  she  sank  down  quietly  as  if  in 
his  very  presence  there  were  protection  and  rest. 

"What  troubles  you  to-night,  little  mother?" 
he  asked.  "  This  is  the  time  when  I  wanted  you 
to  be  asleep." 

"  I  could  not  sleep,"  she  said,  sinking  her  voice 
to  a  whisper,  and  clasping  both  her  thin  hands 
around  the  doctor's  sleeve.  "  I  could  not  sleep 
until  she  told  me  whether  she  had  found  the  little 
girl." 

"  Who  told  you  ?  "  he  asked,  gently  passing  one 
of  his  hands  soothingly  over  her  own. 

"  The  lady,  the  beautiful  lady.  Has  she  found 
the  little  girl  ?  " 

"  What  little  girl,  mother  ?  I  did  not  know  she 
had  lost  any  little  girl,"  he  added,  trying  to  follow 
the  gleam  of  light  that  seemed  to  have  come  into 
her  darkened  mind. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  whispered,  confidentially.  "  She 
lost  her  once,  she  found  her  once,  and  I  lost  her 
again.  Tell  me,  has  she  ever  found  her  ? " 

"Of  whom  are  you  talking,  and  who  was  the 
little  girl  ?  What  did  you  call  her  ?  " 

Then  he  watched  her  intently  while  her  troubled 


1 88  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

mind  seemed  wandering  in  an  abyss  of  shadows, 
searching  for  something  that  should  guide  her 
through  the  misty  labyrinth  of  her  thought. 

"  Who  was  the  little  girl,  and  what  was  her 
name  ?  "  he  repeated,  distinctly. 

Suddenly  her  face  brightened.  "Which  one  do 
you  mean  ? "  she  asked.  "  There  were  two  of 
them." 

"  Tell  me  what  their  names  were,  can  you  not  ? " 

"  Oh,  Baby,  only  Baby." 

"  And  whose  baby  was  it  ?     Was  it  yours  ? " 

"Oh,  no,"  she  answered,  sadly.  "My  baby  was 
a  little  boy." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  still  soothing 
her  hand,  and  trying  to  help  her  to  the  thought 
which  her  memory  seemed  striving  to  grasp.  "Was 
your  baby  boy  lost  too  ?  " 

"  He  wasn't  a  baby  boy,"  she  answered,  quickly. 
And  then,  with  a  rush  of  tears,  she  pulled  away 
from  him  suddenly,  and  buried  her  face  in  the 
pillow. 

Feeling  that  the  experiment  had  gone  as  far  as 
she  could  well  bear,  he  soothed  and  quieted  her  as 
if  he  were  a  mother  and  she  a  little  child,  and  after 
a  while  saw  her,  under  his  gentle  ministration,  fall 
away  into  a  quiet  sleep.  But  before  she  slept  he 
knew,  from  her  incoherent  talk,  that  the  new-found 
impressions  had  been  again  partially  effaced  from 
her  mind,  and  that  she  had  no  recollection  of  one 
word  that  she  had  said. 

With  the  true  scientist's  spirit  of  investigation, 
on  the  alert  for  any  change  in  his  patient's  condition, 
he  had  yet  gained  one  point  only,  that  there  was, 


KATHARINE   GRAY  189 

in  the  darkness  of  this  clouded  mind,  some  chord  of 
association  that  had  vibrated  at  the  sight  of  Mrs. 
Gray. 

After  this  Sabbath  night  there  followed  a  week 
of  delightful  planning  for  the  party  to  occur  on 
Mrs.  Maitland's  birthday,  that  fell  on  one  of  the 
last  days  of  Easter  week.  These  preparations 
were  varied  by  lounging  upon  the  piazza,  loitering  in 
the  garden,  boat  excursions  upon  the  Potomac, 
drives  to  points  of  interest  in  the  vicinity  of  Wash- 
ington, and  best  of  all,  riding  parties,  leaving  in 
the  afterpart  of  the  day,  and  scouring  every  beauti- 
ful region  around  Washington,  returning  in  the 
quiet  of  the  moonlight  nights. 

In  all  of  these  it  was  Gretta's  horse  that  led  the 
rest,  and  Gretta's  face  and  voice  that,  ever  in  ad- 
vance, seemed  to  cheer  the  others  on.  It  was  as 
if  the  spirit  of  hospitality,  so  marked  in  Mrs.  Mait- 
land,  had  descended  upon  her,  and  she  felt  it  her 
special  pleasure  to  see  that  the  strangers  among 
their  guests  should  leave  nothing  unseen  and  unen- 
joyed. 

Led,  as  they  supposed,  by  his  watchfulness  over 
his  new  patient,  Dr.  Moore  came  every  day  to  the 
house,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion  joined  them 
in  their  rides,  finding  his  way  without  much  diffi- 
culty straight  to  Margaret  Graham's  side. 

Mrs. "Gray,  though  able  to  superintend  the  prep- 
arations, kept  her  room  much  of  the  time  during 
the  week,  sharing  the  festivities  only  when  her 
chaperonage  was  necessary.  If  possible,  she  was 
more  quiet  and  reserved  than  ever,  and  though 
Harold  Moore  sought  opportunities  to  speak  with 


190  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

her,  he  found  her  invariably  too  much  engaged. 
She  had  been  a  good  deal  disturbed  by  the  en- 
counter which  he  had  noticed,  but  she  had  long 
ago  passed  the  time  when  every  breath  of  remorse- 
ful memory  could  stir  her  soul  to  its  very  depths. 
She  had  become  familiar  with  herself,  and  the  fact 
that  it  was  not  such  a  self  as  she  could  approve  no 
longer  rent  and  tore  the  spirit.  She  had  been 
shaken  by  surprise,  and  overcome  with  terror  of 
discovery,  but  her  memories  had  lost  the  element 
of  regret  and  sorrow,  and  kept  only  that  of  shame. 
More  than  once  she  repeated  to  herself  that  she 
had  paid  her  price,  and  did  not  propose  to  relinquish 
that  which  had  been  so  dearly  bought.  Least  of 
all  was  it  her  purpose  now  to  abandon  the  ease  and 
comfort,  position  and  association,  which  it  had  se- 
cured, and  which,  as  she  whispered  to  herself, 
would  never  have  come  to  her  by  any  other  means. 

And  when  the  gala  night  came  that  was  to  show 
her  beautiful  child  to  the  world  of  Washington,  in 
her  heart  there  was  not  only  joy  in  Gretta's  youth 
and  beauty,  but  unexpected  satisfaction  in  the 
thought  that  she  too  stood  there,  in  the  midst  of 
this  Washington  world,  as  the  cherished  friend  on 
whom  the  honors  and  the  duties  of  the  hostess 
came.  There  was  pleasure  too,  in  the  fact  that  not 
one  woman  of  all  who  came  and  went,  and  smiled 
and  talked,  was  statelier  in  presence,  prouder  in 
face,  or  more  gracious  in  bearing  than  herself. 

Mrs.  Maitland  was  unable  to  stand,  and  her  arm- 
chair had  been  raised  until  her  guests  could  look 
straight  into  her  eyes,  and  Gretta  was  like  a  tall, 
fair  lily  as  she  stood  beside  her,  in  her  white  robes, 


KATHARINE  GRAY  19! 

with  a  face  as  pure  as  a  flower.  But  the  eyes  of 
the  strangers  turned  oftenest  and  lingered  longest 
upon  the  stately  woman,  who  stood  in  her  floating 
draperies  of  black  lace,  with  the  sweet  pallor  of 
moonlight  on  her  face,  and  eyes  that  glowed  with 
the  beauty  and  fervor  of  the  stars.  And  no  one 
gazed  upon  her  with  greater  admiration  than  did 
Mrs.  Maitland  and  Gretta,  who  whispered  to  each 
other  that  they  never  knew  before  what  a  beautiful 
woman  she  was.  And  those  who  came  and  went 
felt  that  Mrs.  Maitland  was  favored  to  have  such  a 
representative  as  they  knew  this  woman  would  be 
in  the  social  world,  and  Gretta  to  be  congratulated 
on  such  a  chaperone  and  friend. 

And  happy  as  were  all  the  young  people  on  that 
night,  during  the  hours  that  were  gay  with  music 
and  laughter  and  song,  and  delightful  as  all  found 
the  festival,  yet  all  their  gratification  was  trifling  to 
the  pleasure  that  filled  the  heart  of  Katharine 
Gray. 

To  Mrs.  Maitland,  with  her  old  friends  and  her 
brother's  friends  about  her,  it  was  like  the  last  page 
of  the  book  of  outward  pleasures,  of  which  she  had 
tasted  many  in  a  long  and  brilliant  life.  To  Gretta 
it  was  the  first  page  of  the  same  book,  but  to 
Katharine,  as  she  talked  with  the  most  charming 
women  and  the  most  distinguished  men  that  could 
be  gathered  from  the  city  that  holds  the  best,  it 
was  like  a  concentration  of  the  pleasures  she  felt 
she  ought  to  have  had  during  all  the  past  years — a 
full  cup,  of  which  she  resolved  to  drink  henceforth, 
until  she  had  tasted  the  lowest  drop.  Heretofore 
she  had  been  a  silent  woman.  She  was  startled  at 


THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

herself  to  see  how,  under  the  attrition  of  wits,  her 
own  thoughts  sparkled  and  glowed.  She  had  almost 
forgotten  to  be  merry,  and  she  found  the  laughter 
and  the  light  word  come  springing  to  her  lips  as  if 
they  had  only  waited  for  the  touch  of  some  such 
time  as  this.  Deprived,  starved,  denied,  taking 
what  delights  had  come  to  her  heretofore  as  if  she 
had  no  right  to  touch  them,  she  let  the  hard  past 
go,  and  tested  to  the  full  her  unused  power  of 
enjoyment.  In  the  mirror  opposite  she  saw  her 
face,  with  the  flush  of  all  this  new  excitement  upon 
it,  and  hardly  recognized  herself  in  the  stately 
beautiful  woman  against  whose  breast  the  scarlet 
roses  gleamed. 

It  was  her  life's  first  moment  of  conscious 
triumph,  and  just  as  she  felt  it  most  keenly  the 
crowd  parted,  and  between  the  billows  of  floating 
drapery  of  every  lovely  hue  came  Harold  Moore, 
and  behind  him  a  tall,  broad-chested  man,  over 
whose  forehead  there  tossed  a  mass  of  brown  hair, 
with  a  glint  of  gold  gleaming  in  every  curl.  It  was 
a  face  of  quiet  and  almost  somber  strength,  if  one 
failed  to  see  the  rippling  humor  that  twinkled  in 
the  eyes  and  played  around  the  corners  of  the 
mouth  ;  the  face  of  an  unquestionably  strong  man, 
lighted  by  the  trustful  eyes  of  a  child.  Mrs.  Gray 
did  not  notice  it  until  after  it  had  bowed  low  over 
Mrs.  Maitland's  hand,  and  when  it  was  lifted,  and 
she  looked  straight  into  those  calm  eyes,  there  sud- 
denly came  before  her  the  vision  of  a  child  stand- 
ing in  the  shadow  of  a  vine-clad  church,  and  watch- 
ing while  she  turned  her  back  on  him  and  bore  his 
heart  away.  Her  face  turned  white  to  the  lips,  but 


KATHARINE   GRAY  193 

Harold  Moore  was  there ;  and  he  was  never  again 
to  see  her  quiver  or  quail.  She  was  tasting  her 
first  cup  of  life's  red  wine ;  she  did  not  choose  to 
have  it  dashed  from  her  lips  by  the  coming  of  any 
ghosts  out  of  her  horrible  past.  It  was  only  a 
week  since  she  had  flinched,  had  been  shaken  by 
such  a  ghost.  Now  she  did  not  flinch  and  not  a 
sign,  save  that  of  sudden  pallor,  not  a  quiver  of 
voice  made  her  greeting  to  this  man  other  than  that 
which  had  met  the  homage  of  the  senators  and 
statesmen  and  savants  who  one  by  one  had  come 
to  her  from  out  this  moving  throng. 

For  one  brief  second  his  eyes  sent  their  question 
into  the  depths  of  hers,  and  he  knew  her,  and  knew 
also  that  she  did  not  choose  to  show  that  he  was 
known.  Her  mind  had  acted  like  lightning.  He 
was  a  gentleman,  as  one  glance  showed.  He  could 
not  presume  upon  her  ever  having  had  a  past  if 
there  was  no  answering  gleam  to  meet  his  question- 
ing eyes.  Almost  unconsciously  she  paid  him  the 
highest  tribute  that  woman  could  pay  to  the  honor 
of  any  man.  If  she  was  silent,  she  knew  no  earthly 
power  could  make  him  speak.  What  right  had  he 
to  know  her  if  she  did  not  choose  to  be  known  ? 
His  eyes  answered  every  question  as  if  her  lips  had 
uttered  it,  and  though  he  might  despise  her,  she 
knew  that  she  was  safe. 

"  I  believe  you  promised  me  the  pleasure  of  tak- 
ing you  to  the  supper  room,"  said  a  pleasant  voice 
near  her. 

"  Ah,  General  North,  I  am  glad  you  have  come 
for  her,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland.  "  She  is  looking 
pale  ;  she  has  been  standing  too  long.  And  do  not 

N 


194  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

bring  her  back  again  until  she  has  been  in  the  con- 
servatory, or  on  the  veranda  for  a  breath  of  air," 
she  added,  as  Katharine  laid  her  hand  upon  the 
general's  arm. 

"  I  shall  be  in  no  haste  to  bring  her  back,"  was 
the  answer,  and  as  they  passed  out  of  sight,  Harold 
Moore  said,  "  Will  you  not  trust  Miss  Graham  to 
me,  Mrs.  Maitland  ?  And,  really,  if  you  would  be 
so  good,  we  would  like  to  carry  away  Miss  Gretta 
also,"  he  added,  speaking  for  Mr.  Conrad,  whose 
eyes  had  turned  from  Katharine's  vanishing  figure 
to  rest  in  great  content  oh  Gretta's  face. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Gretta,  "  I  am  not  going  to  leave 
grandmamma  alone." 

"  Then  Theodore  is  to  stay  with  you  here  until  I 
bring  Miss  Graham  back." 

"  Nothing  will  make  me  happier,  if  Mrs.  Maitland 
allows  ;  but,  better  still,  let  me  bring  you  both  some 
refreshments."  And  before  they  could  reply,  the 
shining  head  had  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

"  What  did  you  say  his  name  was  ? "  said  Gretta. 

"  Conrad,  Theodore  Conrad.  He  is  one  of  my 
oldest  friends  and  dearest.  We  were  classmates  in 
college  and  have  been  comrades  all  through  so  far. 
I  am  delighted  that  they  have  sent  him  to  Congress, 
for  it  is  like  having  a  brother  come  home  "to  me." 

He  was  not  gone  long,  but  long  enough,  in  pass- 
ing down  the  crowded  rooms  to  get  a  glimpse  of 
Mrs.  Gray,  as  she  sat  in  the  center  of  a  brilliant 
group,  the  one  apparently  most  at  ease  and  certainly 
the  one  most  elegant  and  charming  woman  of  them 
all. 

As  if  she  felt  his  gaze,  her  eyes  lifted  and  he 


KATHARINE   GRAY  195 

knew,  notwithstanding  her  seeming  ease,  that  her 
confidence  had  deserted  her.  In  their  depths  he 
saw  such  a  horror  of  terror  and  trouble  as  was 
there  years  ago  when  she  was  nearly  maddened  at 
the  loss  of  her  little  girl ;  and  as  of  old,  his  great, 
tender  heart  pitied  her. 

"Whither  away  so  fast?"  said  Colonel  Holt, 
laying  his  hand  on  Theodore's  arm  ;  "  stay  and  make 
one  of  us.  It's  an  age  since  I  have  seen  you." 

"  A  little  later,  perhaps.  Your  group  is  perfect 
and  I  have  permission  to  serve  some  ladies." 

"  Well,  we  know  you,"  said  Senator  Nelson,  a 
white-bearded  man  with  a  cheery  face ;  "  no  man 
can  serve  them  better." 

"  No  man  is  more  loyal  to  them  certainly,  if  that 
is  what  you  mean,"  and  his  old  smile  flashed  like  a 
promise  down  upon  Katharine's  face.  Then  he 
passed  on  and  she  breathed  more  freely. 

"  You  seem  to  admire  the  new  judge,  senator," 
said  Colonel  Holt. 

"  Yes,  and  well  I  may.  He  comes  from  our 
section.  He's  a  glorious  fellow,  and  he's  going 
straight  to  the  top." 

"  He  looks  young  for  the  bench." 

"  Yes,  but  he  has  earned  it.  This  is  his  first 
term  in  Congress,  but  we'll  keep  him  here  straight 
along  now.  There's  nobody  in  whose  hands  our 
interests  are  so  safe." 

"You  seem  especially  enthusiastic,"  said  Mrs. 
Gray,  languidly. 

"  I  do  not  wonder,"  said  another  lady.  "There's 
something  about  him  that  makes  one  think  of  the 
knights  of  the  old  Crusades." 


196  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"Who  is  it  you  are  lauding  in  this  extravagant 
fashion  ? "  said  Harold  Moore,  pausing  on  the  out- 
side of  the  group,  "  is  it  our  friend  Theodore  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Nelson,  a  sweet-faced, 
elderly  lady ;  "  I  was  about  to  say  he  was  a  true 
knight,  not  of  the  olden  but  of  our  later  time. 
There  isn't  a  wrong  in  our  State  that  that  man 
has  not  been  after  ever  since  he  was  a  lad.  Why, 
his  father  wanted  him  to  take  his  business,  and 
there  was  a  fortune  in  it,  and  he  did  try  to  do  it,  to 
please  the  old  gentleman  after  he  came  out  of 
college  ;  but  one  day  he  went  to  him  and  said : 
'  Now,  father,  I  am  glad  you  have  the  money, 
and  I  want  to  help  the  business  to  go  on  and  to 
grow  for  what  the  money  can  do,  but  there  are  too 
many  things  that  money  alone  can  never  set  right 
that  I  want  to  learn  all  about,  away  down  to  the 
bottom.  I  want  to  take  some  time  to  fit  myself 
for  a  fight  that  will  call  for  money,  but  call  a  good 
deal  louder  for  men.' 

"And  old  Mr.  Conrad,  who  was  so  fond  of  him  that 
he  couldn't  bear  to  have  him  out  of  his  sight,  left 
him  free  and  gave  him  his  chance,  and  the  fellow 
just  gave  himself  up  to  practical  examination  of 
what  he  calls  '  the  problems  of  the  people.' " 

"  He  was  always  at  it,  even  in  college,"  said  Dr. 
Moore,  who  had  taken  a  little  turn  with  Miss  Gra- 
ham on  his  arm,  and  returned  to  the  rear  of  the 
group.  "  It  was  easy  enough  for  him  to  take  hon- 
ors, and  he  was  away  ahead  in  athletics,  but  really 
the  only  thing  he  cared  for  was  humanity.  I  believe 
he  studied  law  because  he  fancied  justice  and  pro- 
tection for  the  poor  were  in  it." 


KATHARINE  GRAY  197 

"  Well,  he  has  been  a  regular  John  the  Baptist 
since  he  settled  down  to  the  law  in  our  State.  We 
sent  him  to  the  legislature,  and  he  was  a  '  voice  cry- 
ing in  the  wilderness.' ): 

"  Seems  to  me  you  are  making  your  hero  out  a 
first-class  crank,"  said  a  little  fat  man  with  a  round, 
bald  head,  "  '  Crying  in  the  wilderness '  is  easy 
enough.  What  we  want  is  men  to  lead  us  out  of 
the  woods,  not  men  to  raise  a  hue  and  cry  because 
we  are  in." 

"  Trust  Judge  Conrad  for  that  too,  friends.  The 
man  has  a  genius  for  making  crooked  things 
straight.  I  wouldn't  like  to  fall  into  his  hands  if  I 
had  mountains  of  iniquity  to  be  brought  low." 

Mrs.  Gray  changed  color. 

"  I  fear  I  am  allowing  your  very  interesting 
account  of  your  hero  to  take  the  attention  that 
belongs  to  all  our  guests,"  she  said  rising,  with  a 
faint  chill  in  her  manner  that  at  once  checked  all 
enthusiasm.  "  Miss  Wild  said  he  reminded  her  of 
Guido's  St.  Michael.  Evidently,"  she  added,  with 
a  little  touch  of  scorn  in  her  voice,  for  fear  and 
anger  were  battling  in  her  for  mastery,  "  evidently 
his  mission  is  to  trample  out  the  dragons.  He  will 
find  enough  of  them  in  our  legislative  halls  and  in 
our  slums ;  he  will  hardly  need  to  drive  them  out  of 
our  salons,"  and  she  moved  slowly,  with  gracious 
word  and  smiles  to  those  she  met,  to  Mrs.  Mait- 
land's  side. 

Dr.  Moore  and  Miss  Graham  were  there  before 
her.  Judge  Conrad  had  lingered  with  them  while 
they  took  the  ices  he  had  brought,  with  a  manner 
so  unlike  that  of  the  young  society  man,  and  yet  so 


198  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

deferential  and  gentle  to  Mrs.  Maitland,  that  Gretta, 
to  whom  he  said  little,  felt  he  found  a  pleasure  in 
being  near  the  loving  mother-heart. 

"  They  have  been  having  a  great  talk  about  Mr. 
Conrad,  Dr.  Moore's  friend,"  said  Miss  Graham  to 
Gretta,  "  and  your  aunt  told  them  you  said  he 
reminded  you  of  St.  Michael.  They  grew  quite 
eloquent  in  his  praise.  It  seems  he  has  distin- 
guished himself  in  his  own  State,  but  Mrs.  Gray 
appeared  to  think  the  praise  a  little  excessive,  for 
she  said  something  about  his  not  needing  to  hunt 
for  dragons  in  our  drawing  rooms." 

"  St.  Michael  did  not  trample,  as  I  remember," 
said  Gretta.  "  The  dragon  crouched  and  shrank 
as  he  came ;  he  scarcely  touched  him." 

"  It  always  seemed  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland, 
"  that  the  evil  shrank  before  the  coming  of  the  light ; 
that  it  was  the  light,  the  moral  revelation,  before 
which  the  darkness  sped  rather  than  the  indications 
of  physical  power  to  harm." 

"  Yet,"  said  Gretta,  "  the  drawn  sword  was  there 
in  the  uplifted  hand.  It  swung,  as  if  just  stayed 
by  some  thought  of  mercy,  above  the  dragon's 
head."  She  turned,  and  Katharine  stood  beside 
her.  For  the  first  time  in  all  her  life  Gretta  saw, 
through  the  half-drooped  lids,  the  eyes  blazing  on 
her  in  anger. 

"  It  may  all  be  very  artistic  and  sentimental,"  she 
said  in  a  low  voice,  that  cut  like  an  icicle  upon  the 
flower-scented  air,  "but  really  I  would  have  pre- 
ferred one  of  you  young  girls  as  the  belle  of  the 
evening.  I  cannot  see  that  we  have  special  use  for 
angels  with  flaming  swords,"  and  she  turned  with  a 


KATHARINE   GRAY  199 

gracious  smile  to  greet  a  late-comer  at  that  moment 
announced. 

Gretta  bent  hastily  over  Mrs.  Maitland,  readjust- 
ing the  light  lace  wrap  that  had  fallen  from  her 
shoulders,  keeping  her  face  out  of  sight  lest  she 
should  show  some  sign  of  the  sting  of  this  first 
sharp  word.  Mrs.  Maitland  just  prisoned  for  a 
moment  the  little  trembling  hand  and  held  it  close, 
and  though  their  eyes  did  not  meet,  Gretta  knew 
she  too  had  heard  and  understood. 

"  It  is  Mrs.  Gray  who  is  the  belle  of  the  evening, 
Gretta,"  she  said  playfully,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"  though  she  does  not  seem  to  know  it.  Every  one 
seems  anxious  to  know  her." 

"  Yes,  did  you  ever  see  her  look  so  lovely  ? "  said 
Gretta  eagerly,  her  love  at  once  getting  the  mastery 
of  her  pain.  "  I  am  so  glad  to  see  her  happy,  and 
ashamed  that  I  should  vex  her." 

"  I  have  been  fearing  your  life,  when  school  is 
over,  would  lose  much  that  is  delightful  socially, 
since  my  health  has  so  decidedly  failed,"  she  said, 
taking  no  notice  of  Gretta's  last  words,  "but  with 
such  a  chaperon  as  your  auntie,  I  do  not  see  why 
you  should  not  be  really  gay.  Would  you  like  to 
see  a  good  deal  of  Washington  society  next  winter  ? " 

"  Oh,  if  I  might,  yes  indeed  I  would.  I  never 
thought  of  it,  that  is,  I  never  supposed  I  could." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  turn- 
ing to  respond  to  the  adieux  of  some  of  her  own  old 
friends. 

"  It  has  been  so  lovely  to  see  the  dear  house  open 
once  more,"  they  said,  "  it  seems  like  the  old  times. 
By-the-way,  how  the  old  judge,  your  brother,  would 


20O  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

have  enjoyed  our  young  friend  Conrad.  He's  from 
our  State  you  know;  we'll  make  him  governor  yet." 

"  We  hope  not,  since  that  would  take  him  from 
Washington,"  said  Harold  promptly. 

"  True,"  answered  the  colonel,  as  he  passed  on, 
"  the  State  may  need  such  men,  but  the  country 
needs  them  more." 

"  Mr.  Conrad  seems  to  have  no  lack  of  friends," 
said  Mrs.  Maitland  to  Gretta.  "  It  is  enough  for  me 
to  know  he  is  a  friend  of  our  dear  Doctor  Moore, 
who  brought  him  here  to-night.  We  shall  hope  to 
see  him  often,"  and  somehow  a  great  weight  was 
lifted  from  Gretta's  heart.  It  did  not  matter  so 
much  that  her  aunt  had  spoken  sharply  to  her,  if 
only  the  aversion  to  the  stranger  did  not  keep  him 
forever  away.  And  when  he  came  to  make  his 
farewells  Mrs.  Maitland  was  so  cordial,  and  her 
aunt  so  kind,  that  her  pain  and  fear  departed,  nor 
was  it  revived  during  the  bedtime  talk  with  Miss 
Graham  which,  late  as  it  was  before  they  retired, 
neither  of  the  girls  could  resist. 

It  had  been  of  all  Gretta's  short  life  the  "  mer- 
riest, maddest  day."  But  for  that  one  little  pang  of 
her  aunt's  displeasure  it  had  been  without  a  cloud. 
As  usual  Mrs.  Gray  came  in  in  her  dressing-gown 
to  see  if  all  was  well  with  the  child  for  the  night, 
but  Miss  Graham  was  there  in  the  full  flow  of  girl- 
ish talk,  so  she  said  good-night  pleasantly,  and 
turned  away. 

And  when  Gretta  was  all  ready  for  bed,  she  went 
softly  into  Katharine's  room.  She  was  not  there. 
Then  she  passed  on  to  Mrs.  Maitland's  bedside  for 
a  good-night  kiss,  and  kneeling  by  the  pillow  prayed 


KATHARINE   GRAY  2OI 

her  thankful  prayers  with  a  thin  white  hand  upon 
her  head.  And  Katharine,  wandering  restlessly  up 
and  down  the  house,  saw  the  white  figure  kneeling 
there  in  the  dim  light,  and  knew  that,  even  in  a 
sadder,  sorer  sense  than  when  Robert  Gray  had 
taken  her,  she  had  lost  her  little  child. 

Pausing  in  her  restless  walk  at  the  wide  window 
at  the  end  of  the  corridor,  she  gazed  across  the 
courtyard  to  a  room  where  a  light  was  burning 
feebly  in  the  old  west  wing.  There  in  the  silence 
lay  the  old  head  that  had  parted  with  its  wits  in  her 
service,  the  old  heart  that  had  been  robbed  of  its 
only  child.  Down  yonder  somewhere  in  the  sleep- 
ing city  was  the  son  robbed  of  his  mother.  These 
two  had  risen  already,  as  from  the  dead,  to  con- 
front her  with  her  sin,  and  out  of  the  great  world 
it  might  be  that  another  still  would  rise  to  chide 
her  with  the  memory  of  even  a  deeper  wrong.  For 
,  this  old  woman  the  years  had  been  a  time  "  of 
peace  and  of  forgetting,"  far  better  for  her  than 
years  of  continued  struggle  and  toil.  Therefore  no 
real  harm  to  her  lay  at  Katharine's  door.  As  for 
Ted,  successful  and  beloved,  with  a  conquered  world 
of  difficulties  and  temptations  behind  him,  and  new 
worlds  of  service,  influence,  and  honors  before, 
what  right  had  he  to  haunt  her  with  eyes  of  ques- 
tion or  reproof  ?  He  ought  to  thank  her,  for  in- 
deed he  owed  it  all  to  her.  She  would  tell  him  so 
too,  in  that  hour  when  she  would  outpour  upon  him 
the  dislike  and  scorn  that  were  hot  and  seething  in 
her  heart.  "  St.  Michael,"  indeed !  She  would 
show  him  that  she  feared  no  shining  sword.  And, 
after  all,  what  did  these  terrors  mean  ? 


2O2  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

She  pushed  up  the  casement,  and  kneeling  on 
the  low  window  seat,  drew  the  heavy  curtains  about 
her,  and  watched  the  stars  and  the  low  scudding 
clouds  that  now  revealed  and  now  obscured  the 
moon.  What  could  Ted  know  that  should  make 
her  afraid  ?  Why  nothing,  save  that  once  there 
were  two.  And  it  he  never  told  it,  which,  since  he 
smiled  into  her  eyes,  she  knew  he  would  not  do,  all 
would  be  well.  If  he  dared  tell  it,  if  he  dared 
speak  of  it  even  to  her,  she  had  ready  the  vials  of 
wrath.  Was  not  he  as  well  as  Gretta  bearing  a 
name  and  living  on  a  wealth  not  his  own  ?  Would 
he  like  the  world  to  know  the  depths  from  which 
he  sprang  ?  the  tenement  house  top  floor  ?  the 
wash-tubs  and  the  brogue  ?  Of  course  he  was 
ashamed  of  his  old  mother,  or  why'had  he  dropped 
the  name  that  mother  bore  ?  Why  had  he  not 
searched  the  wide  world  over  instead  of  leaving  her 
to  be  a  pauper  in  a  stranger's  care  ? 

Ah,  how  greatly  she  had  changed  !  How  might- 
ily had  the  evil  dwellers  that  had  crept  in  one  by 
one  grown,  until  they  held  possession  of  her  soul ! 
What  a  viper's  nest  it  had  become  of  fierce  rebel- 
lion, ambition,  and  anger  and  envy  and  hate  !  They 
hissed  their  tempting  whispers  in  her  ears.  They 
twisted  their  foul  coils  about  all  that  was  left  that 
made  her  long  even  now  for  innocence  and  peace. 
Even  that  new  passion  to  help,  if  by  helping  she 
might  atone,  seemed  for  the  time  being  at  least, 
poisoned  by  their  scorpion  sting. 

No  wonder  that  she  wandered  while  others  slept. 
If  only  she  could  have  known  that  the  heart  that 
reverenced  and  loved  her  was  a  boy's  heart  still,  in 


KATHARINE   GRAY  203 

so  far  as  its  thought  of  her  was  concerned ;  that  he 
wondered  as  he  walked  home  why  she  seemed 
afraid  to  know  him ;  that  nothing  had  ever  come  to 
his  knowledge  that  had  shaken  his  trust  in  her  ;  that 
his  boyish  hurt  had  died  with  his  boyish  years.  If 
she  had  known  all  this  she  might  have  slept  that 
night,  since  only  outward  terrors  stirred  her  now. 
She  had  grown  used  to  sleeping  when  she  had  only 
her  own  sick  soul  to  face. 

On  the  day  following  the  party,  the  morning 
passed  in  restful  idleness  and  merry  chat  on  the 
veranda,  when  the  younger  members  of  the  house- 
hold talked  everything  and  everybody  over  with 
Mrs.  Maitland,  as  if  she  were  only  another  girl. 
She  did  not  seem  the  worse  for  her  birthday  fes- 
tival, nor  did  any  one  except  perhaps  Mrs,  Gray, 
who  kept  her  room  in  the  morning  in  order  to  be 
rested  to  chaperone  the  young  ladies  in  the  after- 
noon, for  which  several  pleasant  engagements  had 
been  accepted.  Desiring  to  give  a  forgotten  order 
to  one  of  the  maids,  Katharine  threw  on  her  wrap- 
per, and  stepped  through  Gretta's  room  into  the 
hall,  while  the  family  were  at  breakfast.  Return- 
ing, as  she  passed  through  Gretta's  chamber,  her 
eye  fell  upon  something  that  glittered  like  gold 
upon  the  rug,  half  hidden  by  the  table  scarf. 
Thinking  it  Gretta's  watch,  she  stooped  and  rose 
with  such  a  look  of  startled  wonder  upon  her  face 
as  she  would  not  have  cared  to  have  another  see. 
It  was  a  gold  locket  held  by  an  old-fashioned  slender 
chain,  such  as  in  her  girlhood  she  had  often  seen 
her  mother  wear. 

She  only  paused  for  one  look,  and  hastily  con- 


204  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

cealing  the  treasure  in  the  folds  of  her  dress,  she 
hurried  to  her  room  and  locked  the  door.  Opened 
by  trembling  hands,  the  locket  revealed  on  one  side 
a  coil  of  soft  brown  hair,  and  on  the  other  her 
gentle  sister's  face.  And  the  eyes  looked  out  at 
her  with  the  same  questioning,  pleading  gaze  they 
wore  that  night  when,  dying,  she  gave  into  her  care 
her  only  little  child.  Like  a  flood  the  memory  of 
all  her  words  swept  over  her.  She  remembered 
the  pledge  she  herself  had  silently  given  to  rear 
the  little  one  in  the  faith  her  mother  loved.  She 
had  failed  in  all,  yet  even  now  the  sweet  eyes  did 
not  seem  to  chide,  but  only  to  trust  and  plead  with 
her  again. 

She  closed  the  locket  hurriedly,  and  almost  im- 
patiently put  it  among  her  own  private  treasures 
deep  out  of  sight  in  her  desk. 

Whose  was  it  ?  She  did  not  know — she  hardly 
cared — she  remembered  seeing  it  once  at  her  sis- 
ter's home.  Perhaps  Debby  kept  it  for  herself,  or 
brought  it  home  to  her  mistress  ?  Or  possibly  she 
packed  it  with  the  child's  apparel  and,  without 
knowing  it,  might  herself  have  taken  it  to  Chicago 
and  transferred  it  to  Mrs.  Burke,  in  whose  care  she 
placed  the  clothing  and  the  child.  This  seemed  not 
unlikely,  though  she  could  not  remember  seeing  it 
after  she  left  the  parsonage.  But  Biddy  was  here 
now,  Gretta  saw  her  daily,  and  she  had  doubtless 
received  the  locket  from  her.  Or  old  Debby  or 
Mrs.  Maitland  might  have  given  it  to  her;  but  let  it 
have  come  as  it  might,  why  had  Gretta  concealed 
it  ?  For  the  second  time  in  her  life  she  felt  like 
blaming  Gretta,  and  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of 


KATHARINE   GRAY  205 

irritation  that  she,  for  whom  she  had  borne  so 
much,  should  be  the  means  of  bringing  to  her  tor- 
menting memories.  She  had  enough  of  them,  and 
they  embittered  rather  than  softened  her  heart. 
She  resolved  to  shake  off  their  influence  upon  her, 
and  yet  the  morning  was  gone,  and  the  face  and 
voice  were  pleading  with  her  still. 

There  was  a  musicale  at  Senator  D 's  and  a 

charming  out-of-door  festival  in  another  quarter,  and 
she  must  go  with  Gretta  and  her  girl  friends,  and 
she  was  late.  Already  she  could  hear  their  merry 
talk  and  laughter,  as  they  called  from  room  to 
room,  in  the  happy  bustle  of  preparation ;  and 
struggle  for  control  as  she  would,  again  she  knew 
she  must  go  forth  with  white  face  and  quivering 
hands. 

"  We  are  just  wearing  you  out,  auntie,"  said 
Gretta,  as  she  came  at  last  to  find  the  carriage 
waiting.  "  You  are  not  rested  at  all,  and  it  is  cruel 
of  us  to  let  you  go." 

"  Yes,  I  fear  it  is  too  true,"  said  Miss  Graham, 
"you  are  looking  so  white  and  ill.  Why  not  let  us 
stay  at  home  this  afternoon  ?  I  am  sure  we  all 
need  rest." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  laughing.  "I  am 
quite  too  eager  to  go  myself  to  consent  to  give  it 
up." 

"  Well,  I  confess  I  would  give  it  up  cheerfully," 
said  Miss  Graham  ;  "  for  I  have  lost  my  pleasure 
this  afternoon  in  the  sense  of  my  other  loss." 

"  Oh,  you  will  be  sure  to  find  it,"  said  Gretta, 
cheerily.  "  I  am  very  careless,  but  I  always  find 
my  things." 


2O6  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"What  is  it  ? "  asked  Katharine  from  behind  her 
veil.  "  What  have  you  lost  ?  " 

"  A  locket,  the  dearest  thing  I  have  in  the  world, 
a  keepsake  that  I  have  worn  and  prized  so  many 
years." 

"  When  do  you  remember  seeing  it  last  ?  " 

"  Well,  last  night,  you  know,  I  stayed  and  talked, 
and  partly  undressed  in  Gretta's  room.  I  had  it 
then,  for  I  showed  it  to  her." 

"  It's  her  mother's  face,"  broke  in  Gretta,  "  or 
Margaret  feels  quite  sure  it  is.  She  never  saw  her 
mother.  Her  grandmother  took  her  when  she  was  a 
baby,  and  she  kept  this  picture  for  her.  She  never 
told  her  whose  face  it  was,  but  she  did  tell  her  it  was 
about  her  neck  under  the  little  frock  when  she  was 
brought  to  her.  But  after  her  grandmother  died 
she  took  it,  and  has  always  felt  sure  it  was  her 
mother's  face." 

"And  you  wore  it  on  your  ride  yesterday?" 
asked  Katharine,  in  a  tone  of  earnest  sympathy. 

"  I  thought  I  did ;  I  am  so  accustomed  to  wear 
it  that  I  take  for  granted  that  I  put  it  on.  The 
picture  was  everything  to  me,"  she  said.  "  It  was 
a  pure  face,  and  I  could  not  feel  it  about  my  neck 
and  not  at  least  try  to  be  good." 

And  all  the  time,  behind  her  veil,  Katharine  was 
struggling  to  keep  her  own  face  and  voice  under 
control ;  and  struggling  too,  to  find  in  that  troubled 
young  face  opposite,  the  proof  that  she  was  indeed 
her  sister's  child. 

"  I  came  near  losing  it  once  before,"  Miss  Gra- 
ham added.  "  I  was  visiting  the  dear  old  lady  in 
the  west  wing,  Dr.  Moore's  patient  you  know,  and 


KATHARINE   GRAY  207 

as  I  was  bathing  her  face,  the  chain  slipped  and  the 
locket  swung  from  my  neck.  She  saw  it,  and 
thinking  to  please  her,  I  opened  it  and  kissed  it,  and 
she  seemed  overjoyed  like  a  child,  and  kissed  it 
herself  and  watched  me,  and  finally  fell  to  embrac- 
ing me  and  patting  my  head  and  kissing  my  hands, 
until  I  felt  quite  emotionally  dramatic,  as  if  I  were 
a  long-lost  daughter  or  a  wandering  child  returned." 

Gretta  laughed,  saying  as  the  carriage  stopped 
at  the  end  of  a  long  line,  "  That  dear  old  soul  seems 
to  have  a  fund  of  unexpended  devotion  sufficient  to 
run  through  our  list  of  acquaintances.  She  has 
spells  of  adoring  me  and  devouring  me  with  her 
eyes.  I  only  wish  she  would  talk.  When  she  does 
she  has  the  most  delightful  brogue,  and  I  fancy  she 
must  have  been  a  jovial,  cheery  soul  before  this 
dreadful  change." 

There  was  no  time  for  answer.  The  next  minute 
they  were  at  the  door  of  the  crowded  mansion.  A 
pompous  voice  announced  them  in  stentorian  tones, 
that  had  the  effect  of  bringing  a  host  of  friends 
about  them,  almost  before  their  greetings  with  the 
hostess  were  over. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

filled  the  next  few  days  with  out-of-door 
gayeties,  in  which,  to  Katharine's  dismay,  both 
Dr.  Moore  and  Mr.  Conrad  were  constantly  in- 
cluded. She  would  have  been  still  more  dismayed 
if  she  had  been  the  chaperon  of  every  boating  and 
riding  party,  and  seen  how  frequently  these  two  gen- 
tlemen became  the  special  escorts  of  Gretta  and 
Miss  Graham.  But  she  availed  herself  of  every 
opportunity  to  confide  her  charge  to  one  or  another 
of  their  matronly  friends,  and,  during  the  hours 
when  the  gentlemen  were  in  the  house,  succeeded 
in  avoiding  a  meeting. 

On  Conrad's  part  he  accepted  the  place  of  a  new 
acquaintance,  in  which  she  had  placed  him  ;  but, 
when  the  holidays  were  over,  and  the  house  emptied 
of  the  bright  young  faces  that  had  made  the  brief 
season  like  one  long  festival,  the  young  girls  all 
back  at  school,  the  young  men  scattered,  he  came 
to  see  Mrs.  Maitland,  and,  after  an  hour  spent  by 
the  lovely  and  lonely  lady's  arm-chair  on  the 
veranda,  asked  if  he  might  see  Mrs.  Gray  and  see 
her  alone. 

Mrs.  Maitland,  in  whose  heart  the  thought  of 
Gretta's  happiness  and  welfare  was  ever  uppermost, 
could  not  help  interpreting  this  request  as  signifi- 
cant of  his  having  something  to  say  of  Gretta ;  and  so 
accustomed  had  she  grown  to  thinking  of  the  child 
208 


KATHARINE  GRAY  209 

as  her  own,  that  a  little  shade  of  wonder  crossed  her 
mind  that,  if  he  wanted  to  speak  of  Gretta,  he 
should  not  have  broached  the  subject  to  herself. 
They  had  had  more  than  one  quiet  talk  in  the  brief 
time  since  she  had  known  him,  and  she  had  come 
fully  to  endorse  the  high  opinion  of  his  friend  and 
classmate,  Dr.  Moore.  She  felt  that  here  indeed 
was  a  man  in  whom  a  woman's  heart  might  safely 
rest,  a  man  noble  in  himself,  and  yet  with  an  ideal 
and  practice  of  life  that  counted  everybody  better 
than  himself.  Strong,  he  gave  himself  unsparingly 
to  the  succor  of  the  weak.  Young,  his  tenderness 
and  deference  and  care  of  everything  that  was  aged 
was  such  as  to  stir  the  affection  of  every  woman's 
heart.  Knowing  the  world,  he  yet  lived  in  a  range 
of  principles  and  ideas  which  did  not  enter  into  the 
ordinary  man's  scheme  of  life.  Dealing  with  men 
and  affairs  with  energy  and  promptitude,  yet  with 
all  his  strength,  a  man  to  win  and  hold  the 
love  of  every  little  child.  Surely,  if  Gretta  must 
sometime  be  left  alone,  how  could  this  loving 
old  heart  help  wishing  that  she  might  find  the  pro- 
tection of  such  a  soul  as  this. 

No  wonder  her  eyes  followed  him  kindly,  as  he 
entered  the  library  where  Mrs.  Gray,  with  the  same 
air  of  impenetrable  coldness  and  reserve,  stood 
waiting  for  him  to  come.  Instinctively  divining 
her  preference,  he  led  her  to  a  sofa  where  the  light 
would  fall  full  in  his  face  and  not  upon  her  own. 
The  frank  directness  of  his  gaze  was  emphasized  in 
his  words. 

"  I  have  asked  to  see  you,  my  dear  Mrs.  Gray, 
not  only  because  I  want  to  thank  you  for  having 

o 


2IO  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

allowed  me  to  share  in  the  delights  of  this  home, 
and  to  take,  with  all  these  lovely  young  people,  rest 
and  recreation  such  as  has  not  been  mine  since  I 
was  a  lad  ;  but,  having  shared  the  pleasures  and 
accepted  the  hospitality  of  the  home,  I  am  not  wilk 
ing  to  go  away  feeling  that  I  am  a  stranger  to 
either  of  my  Hostesses,  or  without  at  least  making 
an  effort  to  be  recognized  by  my  dear  old  friend." 

Almost  at  the  very  first  word  her  face  relaxed. 
There  was  no  accusation  in  his  eyes,  no  rebuke  or 
scorn  ;  nothing  but  the  old  loyal  gentleness  in  voice 
and  word.  Was  it  possible  that  he  was  not  going 
to  condemn  her  after  all  ? 

"  I  am  not  going  to  ask  you  to  talk  to  me,  Mrs. 
Gray,  for  I  have  realized  by  the  very  fact  of  your 
shunning  me  on  all  occasions,  how  difficult  it  would 
be  for  you  to  refer  to  the  past.  I  can  easily  guess 
all  that  I  have  any  right  to  know."  She  colored 
and  her  eyes  fell.  "  But  it  is  due  to  you  that  I 
should  not  come  to  your  home,  and  come  in  contact 
with  this  young  girl  who  is  so  dear  to  you,  without 
letting  you  know  more  of  me  than  you  have  yet 
been  told." 

He  was  not  going  to  question  her  then.  The 
set,  strained  look  of  resistance  relaxed. 

"  In  that  terrible  railway  accident,"  he  went  on, 
"  when  I  lost  my  mother,  I  was  one  of  those  who 
went  down  with  the  wreck  of  the  bridge  into  the 
water  below.  As  I  was  struck  by  fragments  of  the 
broken  car  as  I  fell,  I  knew  nothing  of  my  descent 
into  what  might  have  been  a  watery  grave.  Neither 
did  I  know  it  when,  rising  to  the  surface,  I  was 
drawn  into  the  boat  of  one  of  the  rescuers,  and 


KATHARINE   GRAY  211 

taken  to  the  opposite  bank.  I  knew  nothing  either 
during  much  of  the  terrible  illness  that  followed, 
as  the  result  of  the  blow  and  the  shock  and  the 
chill.  I  waked  to  find  myself  in  the  hospital  con- 
nected with  the  Catholic  Convent  in  Edholm.  I 
saw  the  gentle  figures  in  black  gliding  about  the 
ward.  I  heard  low  tones  and  saw  kind  faces  look- 
ing out  upon  me  from  under  their  bands  of  white. 
I  did  not  know  how  long  I  had  been  there.  I 
hardly  knew  how  long  I  stayed.  I  only  knew  the 
strength  came  back  slowly,  and  that  I  had  tender 
care  and  the  kind  ministry  of  priest  and  sister  of 
mercy ;  and  I  could  hear,  as  I  lay  on  my  cot,  the 
voices  of  the  choristers  in  the  little  church  con- 
nected with  the  convent. 

"  By-and-by  I  became  able  to  work  in  the  garden, 
and  to  tend  the  flowers.  They  were  willing  to  keep 
me,  and,  but  for  two  things,  I  could  have  been 
content.  The  kind  priest  talked  with  me  of  the 
wickedness  of  the  great  world  into  which  I  was 
impatient  to  go  back,  of  the  poverty  and  struggle 
and  temptation  that  would  meet  me  there.  He 
offered  to  rear  me  in  the  church  and  for  the  church, 
and  it  meant  home,  and  protection,  and  kindness, 
and  a  chance — after  I  should  have  received  my 
training — to  go  out  into  the  world,  not  to  fight  its 
battles,  but  as  a  helper  and  comforter  of  the 
'wounded. 

"  Of  course,  Mrs.  Gray,  you  know  why  I  could 
not  stay.  But  when  I  pleaded  that  I  must  find  my 
mother,  every  search  was  made  in  my  behalf,  with 
the  result  that  a  woman  answering  her  description 
had  died  of  her  injuries,  and  had  been  laid  away  with 


212  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

the  rest  on  that  dreadful  day  when  they  buried  the 
other  dead.  They  assured  me  that  their  search 
was  far  more  thorough  than  any  that  I,  a  helpless 
boy,  could  make  ;  but  even  then  I  was  not  content. 
I  had  promised  you  that  I  would  care  for  the  child, 
and  feeling  that  nothing  excused  me  from  that 
trust,  I  turned  away,  really  mourning  to  grieve  these, 
the  only  friends  I  had  in  the  world.  But,  taking 
the  clothing  they  had  so  kindly  provided  for  me, 
and  the  little  fund  of  money  which  they  had  given 
on  condition  that  I  might  return  it,  I  made  my  way 
back  to  the  place  of  the  accident. 

"  As  you  may  judge,  a  child  could  follow  but 
feebly  the  traces  of  such  a  tragedy.  And  yet  I 
made  inquiry  of  the  officials  of  the  railroad,  both 
at  the  place  of  the  disaster,  and  later  at  their 
general  headquarters.  The  files  of  the  newspapers, 
giving  accounts  of  the  accident,  were  searched. 
The  physicians  who  were  said  to  have  come  on  the 
rescue  trains  from  a  distance  were  interviewed,  and 
the  people  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  disaster  had 
cause  to  remember  the  little  red-headed  boy  who 
tramped  from  place  to  place,  questioning  if  a  little 
baby  or  an  elderly  woman  had  been  brought,  after 
the  accident,  to  any  of  their  homes. 

"  Of  course  it  was  a  failure,  and  of  course  I  used 
up  all  my  money  in  the  search.  But  the  people 
would  give  me  little  jobs  of  work  for  a  meal  and  a 
night's  lodging,  and  sometimes  for  a  few  days  I 
stayed  at  work  upon  some  farm  until  I  had  earned 
money  to  let  me  go  on  to  the  next  point.  Thus  I 
worked  my  way  back  to  Chicago,  where,  homeless, 
friendless,  and  alone,  I  crept  back,  from  very  home- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  213 

sickness  and  heartsickness,  to  the  place  where  we 
had  lived.  The  house  was  torn  down.  A  new 
business  block  was  rising  on  the  very  spot.  Even 
the  old  policeman  had  gone  from  his  accustomed 
beat.  A  more  desolate  and  helpless  little  soul  you 
never  knew,  as  I  stood  on  the  corner  that  day. 
The  miles  I  walked,  the  doorways  and  empty  carts 
in  which  I  slept,  the  appeals  for  work  that  I  made, 
the  hunger— for  never  once  did  I  come  to  where  I 
was  tempted  to  steal " — Mrs.  Gray  shuddered,  as 
she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  the  man  before 
her;  "no,"  he  repeated,  "  never  once  was  I  tempted 
to  steal,  and  never  once  did  I  beg,  but  the  struggle 
to  live  honestly  made  a  poor  little  freckled-face, 
scrawny,  red-headed  scarecrow  of  me. 

"When  sick  and  faint  for  lack  of  food,  and  too 
utterly  desolate  to  care  whether  I  lived  or  died,  I 
had  one  consolation.  If  I  could  creep  to  the  corner 
where  stood  that  old  ivy-mantled  church  and  sit  on 
the  steps,  or  stand  with  my  back  against  the  wall, 
and  hear  them  singing  within,  or  feel  the  throb  of 
the  great  bell  as  it  rang  in  the  high  church  tower, 
it  somehow  gave  me  a  feeling  of  being  nearer 
home.  And  from  that  point  I  went  around  and 
around  the  square,  living  over  and  over  again  that 
hour  when  I  had  wheeled  your  baby  on  that  day 
when  you  found  her,  and  when  I  lost  her,"  he 
added,  in  a  lower  tone. 

"  I  do  not  think  in  my  weakness  and  weariness 
that  it  once  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  be  known 
and  held  responsible  for  the  stealing  of  the  child  ; 
but  one  day,  as  I  stood  gazing  up  at  the  door  out 
of  which  I  had  wheeled  that  little  wagon  so  many 


214  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

times,  it  opened,  and  the  woman  beckoned  me  to 
come  in.  I  must  have  remembered  the  woodpile 
and  the  weeding  of  the  garden,  and  the  small 
chores,  for  there  sprang  up  in  me  a  great  hope  that 
she  would  let  me  work  for  her  again.  I  ran  over 
to  the  door,  and  once  in  the  hall  she  closed  it 
behind  me.  She  took  me  by  the  shoulders,  and 
drawing  me  into  the  little  sitting  room,  all  dark 
and  shadowy,  because  the  blinds  were  closed  to 
keep  out  the  heat  of  the  midday  sun,  she  seated 
herself,  and  while  I  stood  before  her  with  my  old 
cap  in  my  hand,  she  said,  'You  are  the  boy  who 
once  did  errands  for  me.  You  are  the  boy  who 
weeded  the  garden,  and  helped  me  to  take  care  of 
that  little  child.' 

"  My  heart  stood  in  my  mouth,  but  she. went  on 
rapidly,  putting  her  hand  on  mine.  I  drew  it  away 
with  the  feeling  that  my  hand  was  too  dirty  for  her 
to  touch.  She  then  clasped  her  fingers  about  my 
ragged  sleeve. 

"  '  Where  have  you  been  hiding  ? '  she  said,  not 
unkindly.  '  Why  did  you  not  come  back  and  tell 
me  that  some  one  stole  the  child  away  from  you  ? 
You  brought  the  wagon  back,  but  you  ought  to 
have  come  and  told  me  how  it  was  that  the  child 
was  taken  from  you.  Did  you  think  that  I  should 
blame  you  ?  Other  people  told  me  all  about  it. 
They  said  a  woman  pushed  you  aside,  and  snatched 
the  child  from  the  carriage,  and  went  faster  than 
you  could  follow.'  And  that  was  all  true  in  a  way, 
as  you  know,  Mrs.  Gray." 

Katharine  nodded  assent.  She  was  all  breath- 
less attention  now. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  215 

"  But  of  course  I  never  dreamed  that  every  one 
who  saw  it  did  not  know  that  the  child  was  taken 
with  my  consent. 

" '  You  should  have  run  back  here  at  once  and 
told  us/  said  the  old  woman,  '  so  that  we  might 
have  followed.  Then  they  would  not  have  blamed 
me  as  they  did.  .They  would  have  known  that  it 
was  not  my  fault.  As  it  was,  the  child's  father 
and  old  Mrs.  Gray  held  me  responsible  for  the  loss 
of  the  child,  and  kept  back  all  the  money  that  they 
should  have  paid  for  taking  care  of  it.'  And  here 
the  old  voice  quivered  a  little.  And  I,  who  had 
known  all  about  the  frugal  fare  and  the  poverty  of 
this  old  soul,  felt  suddenly  as  if  I  had  wronged  her, 
and  I  put  my  dirty  hand  on  hers  as  it  rested  on  my 
sleeve. 

" '  I  did  not  know  that,  indeed  I  did  not  know 
that,'  I  said ;  '  but  I  am  going  to  get  work,  and 
just  as  quick  as  I  can  get  the  money,  you  shall  be 
paid  for  taking  care  of  the  child.' 

"'It  isn't  that  alone,'  she  answered,  'although, 
of  course,  in  losing  the  Grays  I  lost  my  only 
friends,  and  everything  has  gone  wrong  with  me 
since.  It  is  a  bad  season.  There  are  no  lodgers 
in  the  rooms.  I  must  have  the  rent,  or  I  shall  be 
turned  away  from  the  house.  And  when  I  saw 
you  waiting  outside,  and  remembered  what  a  good 
boy  you  were,  and  how  you  helped  me  with  the 
chickens  and  the  flowers  and  the  yard,  I  thought 
perhaps  you  would  take  this  letter  for  me.  I  knew 
I  could  trust  you.' 

"  Think  of  that,  Mrs.  Gray,  after  I  had  deliber- 
ately stolen  the  child.  And  after  I  saw  the  letter 


2l6  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

that  she  had  given  me,  and  saw  that  it  was  ad- 
dressed to  Mrs.  Gray,  I  confess  that  for  a  moment 
I  was  a  coward.  I  was  afraid  that  if  I  went  to 
that  house  I  would  be  recognized,  arrested,  and 
lodged  in  prison  by  those  who  knew  that  I  was  not 
so  innocent  as  this  poor  woman  thought.  I  was 
such  a  coward,  Mrs.  Gray,  that  I  even  asked  her  if 
she  did  not  think  the  landlord  would  wait  for  the 
rent  until  1  could  earn  it,  and  when  she  looked  at 
me,  soiled  and  tattered  and  wasted,  I  did  not  wonder 
that  she  mournfully  shook  her  head. 

"  '  No,'  she  said,  '  it  must  be  done  at  once.  I 
have  pleaded  with  them  in  the  letter,  as  one  of 
their  old  servants,  to  pay  me  enough  of  what 
I  earned  by  the  care  of  the  baby-girl,  so  many 
weeks,  to  meet  my  rent,  and  let  me  keep  my  home. 
And  you  will  take  the  letter  for  me  ? '  she  asked, 
and  I  felt  her  old  hand  trembling  on  my  arm. 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Gray,"  laughing  and  tossing  back 
his  hair  with  a  shake  of  his  head,  as  she  had  often 
seen  him  do  when  a  child,  "there  was  no  withstand- 
ing a  need  like  that.  Of  course  I  said  I  would  go, 
but  when  I  held  out  my  hand  for  the  letter,  I  think 
she  shrank  from  putting  it  in  such  a  dirty  little 
paw.  At  any  rate  she  took  me  out  through  the 
kitchen,  where  I  had  had  many  a  meal,  and  where 
on  the  table  was  a  part  of  a  loaf  of  bread,  into  the 
woodshed.  She  gave  me  a  tin  basin,  and  shut  the 
door  and  left  me  to  myself.  And  such  a  scrub  as 
I  got,  filling  the  basin  again  and  again  from  the 
pump,  was  better  than  the  baths  of  the  old  Romans 
to  the  young  athletes  preparing  for  their  games. 
There  was  no  help  for  it,  the  old  clothes  had  to  go 


KATHARINE   GRAY  217 

on  again,  and  so  with  the  preparation  of  clean 
hands,  and  what  I  think  was  a  pure  purpose  in  my 
heart,  and  my  soiled  rags  for  armor,  I  went  forth  to 
meet  my  first  fight,  and  to  resist  the  first  tempta- 
tion to  be  a  coward  of  which  I  had  ever  been  con- 
scious in  my  life." 

"  Quickly,  tell  me  quickly,"  said  Mrs.  Gray, 
almost  gasping  out  the  words.  "  It  moves  too 
slowly.  I  cannot  wait  to  hear." 

"  Oh,  well  then,"  he  answered ;  "  I  feared  I  might 
be  wearying  you.  You  know  the  fine  old  house, 
you  know  the  grounds,  you  know  the  pillar  by  the 
gate.  When  I  reached  the  pillar  my  heart  failed 
me,  and  I  slunk  behind  it  like  a  beggar.  I  think 
that  even  then,  if  I  had  not  recollected  that  I  had 
promised  to  earn  the  money,  if  Mrs.  Gray  would 
not  pay  it,  that  I  would  have  run  up  to  the  piazza, 
and  thrown  the  note  upon  it,  and  have  ignominiously 
fled  the  field.  But  I  remembered  in  time  that  it 
was  I  who  had  brought  this  trouble  upon  her  ;  it 
was  I  who  must  protect  her  now ;  and  strong  in  that 
thought,  I  rang  the  kitchen  bell.  It  was  answered 
by  a  smart  serving  maid,  who  was  polishing  a 
basket  of  gleaming  silver  at  a  table  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room.  She  looked  at  my  ragged  gar- 
ments and  said,  '  What  are  you  here  for,  boy  ?  No 
tramps  allowed.' 

"  '  I  am  not  a  tramp,'  I  said ;  '  a  lady  sent  me 
with  this  note  for  Mrs.  Gray.  I  was  to  wait  for  an 
answer.' 

"  She  looked  at  me,  she  looked  toward  the  silver, 
and  then  came  to  the  door  and  called,  '  Towser, 
Towser,'  over  my  head,  and  there  came  bounding 


2l8  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

toward  her  a  large  dog  from  the  region  of  the 
stables. 

"  '  Here,  Towser,  take  care  of  the  silver,'  she 
said,  pointing  to  me,  and  leaving  the  dog  with  his 
head  raised,  watching  as  if  ready  to  spring  at  my 
throat. 

"  You  know  I  always  loved  animals,  Mrs.  Gray, 
animals  and  babies,  and  they  were  never  afraid  of 
me,  and  I  looked  this  great  dog  straight  in  the  face. 
When  she  came  down  again  she  was  very  much  sur- 
prised to  find  Towser  licking  my  clean  hands,  and 
putting  one  paw  in  a  friendly  way  upon  my 
shoulder. 

'"Down,  Towser,'  she  said,  'let  him  alone.' 

"  '  Oh,  he  is  not  hurting  me,  we  are  only  play- 
ing,' I  answered,  and  she  gave  me  a  sealed  note  to 
take  away.  And  all  this  time  how  hungry  I  was  ! 
And  just  inside  that  door  stood  a  tray  of  cold  meat 
and  bread  and  fruit,  somebody's  luncheon  prepared 
to  be  taken  from  the  room. 

"  She  turned,  and  taking  a  large  piece  of  meat 
and  another  of  bread,  held  them  out  in  her  hand, 
'  Here,  Towser,  good  dog,  here  is  something  to^ 
reward  you,'  and  the  dog  snapped  eagerly  at  the 
food. 

"  Whether  or  not  she  saw  the  hungry  look  in  my 
eyes  I  do  not  know,  but  she  turned  again ;  '  Here 
boy,'  she  said,  holding  out  another  portion  like  that 
which  she  had  already  given  the  dog.  '  Don't  you 
want  a  bit  of  something  to  eat  ? ' 

"  Oh,  how  I  wanted  it  !  My  hand  was  lifted  to 
take  it ;  but  Mrs.  Gray,  I  remembered  that  that  was 
the  home  of  the  man  who  had  treated  you  so  badly, 


KATHARINE   GRAY  2ig 

and  in  a  moment  the  very  thought  of  the  food 
choked  me ;  I  do  not  think  I  thanked  her.  I  turned 
away  lest  I  should  not  be  able  to  resist  the  tempta- 
tion, and  ran  as  fast  as  ever  I  could.  I  was  back 
before  Mrs.  Brown  expected  me,  and  while  she 
devoured  the  letter,  my  eyes  were  devouring  the 
remnants  of  the  loaf  of  bread  from  which,  since  I 
had  been  gone,  she  had  already  taken  her  meal. 

"  Seeing  how  absorbed  she  was,  I  was  slinking 
away,  when  she  caught  my  movements. 

"  '  Do  not  go  boy.  I  have  no  money,  but  I  must 
try  to  find  something  to  pay  you  with.' 

"  '  No,  no,'  I  said,  '  I  could  not  take  your  money 
if  you  had  it.  I  am  glad  to  do  the  errand  for  you. 
I  should  like  it  very  much  though  if  you  had  some 
work  for  me  to  do.' 

"  '  Well,  I  have — no  I  haven't,  for  you  see  I  have 
no  money  to  pay  for  the  work  ;  but  there  is  the 
garden  waiting  to  be  weeded,  and  there  is  the  wood 
to  be  cut,  and  if  only  you  were  a  girl,  I  could  get 
you  to  help  me  sweep  and  clean  the  lodgers'  rooms. 
They  need  it  sorely.' 

"  '  Let  me  stay,  let  me  help  you.  You  can  pay 
me  by-and-by  when  the  rent  comes  in.  And  per- 
haps,' I  said,  'as  the  work  goes  on,  you  could  give 
me  something  to  eat.' 

"  She  opened  her  eyes  wide  and  stared  at  me. 
'  Are  you  hungry,  boy  ? '  she  asked  suddenly,  start- 
ing toward  the  table.  '  Now  that  your  hands  are 
clean  you  may  help  yourself  to  a  piece  of  that  loaf.' 

"  I  eyed  it  greedily  and  put  my  hands  behind  me. 

" '  Why  don't  you  take  a  piece,  boy  ? '  she  said, 
wonderingly. 


22O  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  '  I  can't/  I  gasped.  '  I  am  afraid — if  I  touch 
it — that  I  shall  eat  the  whole.' 

"  And  then  you  ought  to  have  seen  that  dear  old 
creature  bustle  around.  She  set  a  chair  for  me  as 
if  I  were  a  king.  She  actually  broke  that  loaf  in 
pieces,  so  that  I  could  eat  it  faster;  and,  greedy 
little  thing  that  I  was,  Mrs.  Gray,  I  never  looked 
up  again  until  I  had  swallowed  it  all.  In  my  sel- 
fishness I  had  not  even  noticed  how  startled  she  was 
by  the  letter  that  she  had  read  ;  but,  when  I  did 
lift  my  eyes  to  her  face,  she  had  gone  back  to  it, 
and  was  reading  it  over  and  over  again. 

"  '  The  Lord  has  been  merciful  to  me,'  she  said 
solemnly.  '  I  had  it  on  my  heart  and  conscience 
that  I  had  been  the  means  of  letting  a  child  be 
stolen  away  from  its  father,  who  had  a  rightful 
claim  upon  it,  and  Mrs.  Gray  writes  me  that  the 
child  has  been  restored  to  her,  and  because  of  that 
she  sends  me  the  amount  that  Robert  told  her  was 
my  due.  He  did  not  tell  her  right,  my  boy.  It  is 
only  half  what  was  my  due.  But  I  know  him.  No 
doubt  he  told  her  he  had  paid  the  rest,  and  this  is 
enough  for  my  rent.  I  am  more  than  content. 
The  home  is  saved,  and  you,  my  dear  boy,  shall 
have  a  resting-place  in  it  so  long  as  I  have  a  roof 
over  my  head.' 

"  Mrs.  Gray,  in  these  later  years,  I  have  wondered 
how,  in  that  time,  I  had  the  sense  and  the  discre- 
tion to  hold  my  tongue ;  but  I  never  said  a  word 
except  to  ask  her  how  they  got  your  child. 

"  '  I  do  not  know,'  she  answered.  '  Robert  Gray 
told  me  the  mother  had  once  deserted  it.  Perhaps 
she  did  so  again.  I  know  that  Mrs.  Gray  had 


KATHARINE  GRAY  221 

offered  to  take  it,  and  to  relieve  the  mother  of  its 
support.  Probably  life  grew  hard  for  her  and  she 
let  them  have  the  child.' 

"  At  any  rate,  I  learned  that  the  little  one  so 
dear  to  you  and  so  dear  to  me  was  there.  I  also 
learned  afterward  that  the  father  was  away,  to  be 
gone  three  years,  and  so  I  had  no  longer  a  terror 
lest  he  should  not  be  kind  to  Gretta.  But  while  I 
could  understand  that  you  might  be  driven  to  allow 
Mrs.  Gray  to  have  the  child  during  his  absence,  I 
never  for  a  moment  felt  as  if  I  was  excused  from 
the  trust  you  had  reposed  in  me  to  watch  and  care 
for  her,  nor  that  I  ever  could  be  excused  until  such 
time  as  you  should  set  me  free." 

He  paused.  During  all  the  latter  part  of  this  re- 
cital Mrs.  Gray's  head  had  dropped  lower  and  lower, 
until  now  the  face  was  entirely  hidden  in  her  hands. 
She  could  not  understand  it.  There  was  but  one 
explanation.  Robert,  unwilling  to  admit  himself 
defeated,  had  either  prevailed  upon  his  mother  to 
take  some  other  child,  or  the  old  lady  herself,  after 
Robert's  departure,  had  supplied  the  loneliness  of 
her  life  by  taking  some  little  one  to  rear  in  the 
place  of  the  true  granddaughter  of  the  house.  In 
either  case  the  result  to  her  was  the  same.  Here 
was  this  strong  man  as  loving  and  loyal  to  her,  and 
as  ready  to  serve  her  as  had  been  her  little  Ted. 

"  This  is  giving  you  too  much  pain,"  he  said,  gently. 
"  Knowing  how  you  felt  to  be  parted  from  your 
child,  I  can  judge  that  to  give  her  up  to  Mrs.  Gray, 
whatever  may  have  forced  you  to  do  it," — Kath- 
arine lifted  her  head  with  a  defiant  denial  written 
on  every  feature  of  her  face ;  he,  intent  upon  his 


222  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

own  thoughts,  did  not  observe  the  look, — "  was  too 
hard  a  thing  for  you  to  remember  without  pain. 
Let  me  leave  the  rest  of  the  story,  for  I  want  you 
to  know  every  step  of  the  way  I  have  taken  since 
those  days.  I  am  sure  you  have  had  more  than  you 
can  bear,"  and  he  rose  as  if  to  go. 

"  Do  not  leave  me,"  she  said,  pleadingly,  laying 
her  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  lifting  a  very  white  and 
haggard  face  to  his. 

"  I  do  not  think  we  should  talk  more  now.  I 
could  not  forgive  myself  for  touching  an  unhealed 
wound.  Whatever  led  you  to  give  her  up,  I  know 
you  did  what  you  felt  was  right,  and  I  want  you  to 
know  how,  above  all  things,  I  rejoice  that  you  have 
her  back  again." 

Katharine  shuddered,  and  once  more  hid  her 
face. 

"  She  is  very  lovely,  and  to  have  her  with  you 
now  in  her  beautiful  girlhood  is,  I  am  sure,  worth 
all  you  have  suffered.  I  suppose  she  came  back  to 
you  after  old  Mr.  Gray's  loss  of  fortune.  One  thing 
only  puzzles  me,  that,  as  an  old  friend,  I  would  like 
to  know ;  but  even  that  I  have  thought  out  for  my- 
self." 

"  What  is  it  ? "  she  whispered,  with  lips  that 
were  white  with  a  new  terror. 

"  As  I  make  out  the  story  it  looks  to  me  as  if, 
the  other  child  having  died  in  that  terrible  accident, 
must  have  left  this  beautiful  home  and  this  dear  old 
heart  of  Mrs.  Maitland  desolate  too,  and  Mrs.  Mait- 
land  told  me  that  she  looked  upon  Gretta  as  her 
very  own  child.  I  thought  that  meant  that  she  had 
made  her  her  own,  and  put  her  in  the  place  of  the 


KATHARINE   GRAY  223 

lost  little  girl ;  and  that  you,  remembering  how  her 
father  had  dishonored  his  name,  had  consented  to 
have  her  take  this  family  name." 

And  while  he  waited,  once  more  the  angel  of 
truth  and  life  battled  with  the  angel  of  deceit  and 
death  in  this  perjured  woman's  soul,  and. made  her 
long  to  cry  out  so  that  even  the  heavens  might 
hear,  against  this  added  lie.  Whether  the  truthful 
eyes  that  looked  down  upon  her  bent  head,  and  the 
strong,  true  soul  of  the  man  helped  to  rouse  once 
more  within  her  the  impulse  to  tell  the  truth  and 
take  whatever  came,  she  did  not  know.  She  did 
know  that  her  soul  was  once  more  a  battlefield. 
And  when  he  said  gently,  "  You  need  not  talk 
about  it.  I  see  how  the  whole  thing  wrings  your 
heart ;  I  see  what  it  must  mean  to  you,  even 
though  you  can  see  her  face  and  hear  her  voice, 
to  be  obliged  to  relinquish  your  daughter  first  to 
Mrs.  Gray,  next  to  Mrs.  Maitland,  and  to  live  here 
the  life  that  for  her  sake,  never  claims  her,"  she 
lifted  her  heavy  eyelids  for  a  moment  with  such  a 
look  of  anguish  as  went  to  his  heart.  Between  her 
white  lips  came  the  words,  "  No  one  remembers,  no 
one  ever  thinks  of  it  but  you." 

"  And  from  this  day,  unless  you  desire  it,  I  too 
will  forget.  You  cannot  question  that  your  secret 
is  safe  with  me,  and  that  I  honor  you  all  the  more 
for  yielding  up  your  claim  that  she  may  have  the 
larger,  richer  life." 

And  she  had  not  said  a  word  to  confirm  or  to 
deny,  yet  he  went  away  believing  he  knew  the 
truth,  and  she  hugged  to  her  soul  still  closer  her 
awful,  living  lie. 


CHAPTER  XV 

AND  while  this  talk  was  going  on  in  the  library, 
in  the  drawing  room  to  which  Mrs.  Maitland's 
arm-chair  had  been  drawn  from  the  veranda,  sat 
three  of  her  friends  in  earnest  conversation. 

"  She  seems  to  me  so  eminently  fitted  for  the 
work,"  said  Mrs.  Dougall. 

"  Yes,  for  any  position  of  prominence,  surely," 
said  Mrs.'Maitland  ;  "but  you  will  have  difficulty  in 
persuading  her  of  the  fact." 

"  My  husband  said  he  had  a  charming  talk  with 
her  at  your  party,  and  found  her  really  a  scholarly 
woman,"  said  Mrs.  Bird,  the  wife  of  a  college  pro- 
fessor. 

"  She  has  watched  her  niece's  education  very 
carefully,  and  participated  in  most  of  her  work, 
and  is  indeed  well-read — a  thoroughly  well-bred  and 
intelligent  woman." 

"  Quite  up  in  all  the  questions  of  the  day,  I  pre- 
sume," said  Mrs.  Jennings,  a  pretty  and  dainty 
young  matron  well  known  in  Washington  society. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  gently.  "That 
is  a  part  of  being  an  intelligent  woman  in  this  day. 
It  was  not  so,  unfortunately,  in  mine.  And  Mrs. 
Gray  has  given  more  than  usual  thought  and  study 
to  problems  that,  even  now,  are  too  little  considered 
either  by  women  or  men." 

"  She  cares  for  temperance  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Bird, 
eagerly. 
224 


KATHARINE  GRAY  225 

"  Most  assuredly.  What  good  woman  does  not  ? 
I  have  heard  her  express  herself  strongly  on  that 
point ;  and  though  her  life  here  has  been  retired, 
and  devoted  to  her  niece  and  myself,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  see  it  widen  out  into  such  good  work  for  the 
world  as  I  know  she  is  able  to  do.  And  I  mean 
that  Miss  Wild  too,  when  she  comes  from  school, 
shall  also  become  a  student  in  the  world  of  prac- 
tical work  for  others.  I  want  her  to  know*  real 
needs  as  they  exist,  to  learn  what  is  being  done  by 
men  and  women  to  alleviate  or  prevent  misery  and 
sin,  and  then  she  will  be  able  to  judge  fairly  as  to 
the  best  methods  of  help,  and  how  and  when  and 
where  her  own  forces  can  be  best  applied." 

"  So  you  think  Mrs.  Gray  cannot  be  induced  to 
consent  to  take  the  post  we  are  so  anxious  to  see 
her  fill  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Bird,  not  willing  to  let  Mrs. 
Maitland  get  too  far  from  the  point  in  hand. 

"  I  cannot  say.  For  this  morning  she  is  espe- 
cially engaged  ;  but  I  will  lay  it  before  her,  and  she 
will  arrange  to  talk  with  you  later.  I  can  promise 
you  she  will  think  of  it.  If  I  were  her  age,  I  would 
help  you  myself." 

That  night  there  was  a  little  dinner  party  at 
Wildholm,  and  Mrs.  Maitland  chanced  to  mention 
her  morning  visitors,  Mrs.  Dougall,  Mrs.  Bird,  and 
Mrs.  Jennings. 

"  Did  you  see  them  ? "  asked  Miss  Graham  of 
Gretta. 

"  Not  this  morning,  but  I  have  met  them  all  be- 
fore. They  are  old  friends  of  Mrs.  Maitland." 

"They  often  come  to  our  house,"  added  Mrs. 
Nelaton,  a  pretty  blond  matron,  whose  beauty  was 


226  THE  TEMPTATION   OP 

Gretta's  special  admiration  ;  "  and  they  usually  come 
together  as  if  sent  forth  on  their  special  mission  in 
threes  instead  of  twos.  Papa  said  one  day  that 
they  represented  to  him  three  different  parts  of  a 
combination  woman." 

"How  do  you  mean?"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  lifting 
her  eyes  with  sudden  interest. 

"  Well,  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  explain  ;  but 
they  certainly  are  three  different  types,  and  yet 
they  seem  always  to  embody  different  phases  of  the 
same  idea.  There  is  Mrs.  Dougall,  whose  type 
might  be  called  the  solidly  sympathetic  ;  and  Mrs. 
Bird,  who  might  be  termed  the  intensely  genuine  ; 
and  Mrs.  Jennings,  who  always  seems  to  represent 
what  might  be  termed  the  socially  serious." 

Everybody  laughed,  for  everybody  knew  the 
trio. 

"  They  are  very  noble  women,"  said  Mrs.  Mait- 
land,  gently,  "and  doing  very  noble  work." 

"  Now,  my  dear  friend,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Egbert, 
in  a  tone  of  remonstrance — she  was  a  little  woman 
•with  a  sharp  nose,  and  bright  eyes  that  seemed  to 
be  trying  to  outshine  the  glitter  of  her  diamonds — 
"  you  are  always  determined  to  see  only  the  lovely 
in  people.  Now  I  will  admit  that  Mrs.  Dougall 
produces  an  effect.  She  just  comes  in  in  her  wide- 
winged  sleeves,  and  a  wide-winged  jet  butterfly, 
that  would  never  be  suspected  of  being  a  bonnet 
but  for  the  fact  that  it  has  lighted  on  her  back 
hair.  And  with  her  little  nods  and  gurgles  and 
pantings  of  assent  and  dissent,  and  her  smiles  and 
her  fluttering  fan,  she  keeps  up  a  certain  air  of 
activity ;  but  she  never  really  says  anything,  and  I 


KATHARINE  GRAY  227 

have  never  seen  any  evidence  that  she  does  any- 
thing." 

The  speaker  stopped  suddenly  and  dropped  her 
eyes,  like  a  naughty  child,  who  knew  she  had  said 
what  she  ought  not,  and  yet  was  encouraged  rather 
than  ashamed  by  the  smiles  of  her  hearers. 

"But  there  is  Mrs.  Bird.  She  certainly  does 
enough  for  all  three,"  said  Gretta,  feeling  as  if 
somebody  were  being  attacked,  and  she  would  like 
to  come  to  the  rescue. 

"That  is  true,"  said  Colonel  Holt ;  "that  woman 
works  like  a  house  afire." 

"  But  what  is  the  use  of  a  woman  working  like 
a  house  afire,"  said  Shakespeare  Potts,  a  lank  young 
man,  with  his  hair  parted  in  the  middle.  "  A  house 
afire  does  nothing  but  mischief.  Women  that  work 
like  a  house  afire  ought  to  be  treated  like  one." 

"  How  is  that?"  asked  Mrs.  Potts.  Her  son  was 
just  out  of  college,  and  she  knew  his  answer  would 
be  brilliant,  and  was  disappointed  that  nobody 
laughed  when  he  said  :  "  The  first  thing  to  do  to  a 
house  afire,  you  know,  is  to  put  it  out." 

"  I  suppose  Potts  means  that  since  such  women's 
work  always  ends  in  smoke  anyway,  that  the  quicker 
it  is  put  out  the  better,"  said  Elmer  Hood,  a  class- 
mate and  admirer  of  Shakespeare's  wit. 

Gretta's  eyes  sought  Mrs.  Maitland's.  Some- 
thing in  the  tone  and  words  of  the  young  men 
hurt  her. 

"  I  have  known  Mrs.  Bird  thirty  years,"  said  the 
old  lady,  with  gentle  dignity,  "and  she  has  been 
helping  somebody  all  that  time." 

"  But  to  what  good  ? "  asked   Mrs,  Egbert,  her 


228  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

eyes  twinkling.  "  She  has  worn  herself  out,  and 
as  far  as  anybody  can  judge,  the  world  is  just  as 
miserable  and  just  as  wicked  as  if  she  had  let  it 
alone.  Now  Mrs.  Dougall  stays  fat  and  comfort- 
able, but  the  other  has  grown  like  a  little  thin,  yel- 
low wasp,  with  a  sting  for  everything  in  her  way." 

"  Why,  she  actually  told  in  a  meeting,"  broke  in 
another  lady,  "  that  her  husband,  the  professor,  be- 
came so  tired  because  she  never  had  any  time  for 
reading,  that  he  said,  the  alphabet  had  no  longer 
any  significance  to  her  in  literature ;  that  she  had 
no  use  for  it  except  in  combinations  of  initials.  As 
W.  F.  M.  S.  or  Y.  W.  C.  A.  or  W.  C.  T.  U.,  it  be- 
came mystical  and  mighty  in  its  meaning.  He  said 
she  put  her  capital  "  C  "  before  everything  under 
the  sun  that  she  could  term  a  cause ;  and  that  he 
would  like  to  see  it  put  once  in  a  while  before 
Cooking  and  Children  and  Comfort.  And  you  can 
imagine  the  effect  of  this  story,  given  with  those 
sharp  vibrations  of  the  thin  little  voice  and  the 
swaying  of  the  thin  little  body,  and  the  waving  of 
the  thin  little  hands." 

"  Unless  I  had  heard  that,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland, 
quietly,  "  I  should  be  inclined  to  consider  it  the 
effort  to  be  witty  of  some  person  who  felt  a  preju- 
dice against  some  cause  with  a  capital  C." 

A  faint  tinge  of  color  crept  to  the  parting  of 
Potts'  pale  hair. 

"  Professor  Bird  is,  as  I  happen  to  know,  in  full 
sympathy  with  his  wife's  efforts,"  she  added.  "  He 
is  the  last  man  to  say  any  such  thing  as  that,  and 
she  the  last  woman  to  take  a  family  conversation 
to  any  meeting  of  women." 


KATHARINE  GRAY  22Q 

"  Well,  I  didn't  hear  it  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Egbert, 
"but  I  think  it  was  said,  and  moreover  I  under- 
stood that  it  was  received  as  an  indication  of  mas- 
culine inability  to  rightly  estimate  the  work  of 
women." 

"  Don't  you  think,"  said  Potts,  with  a  faint  smirk 
that  was  meant  for  a  conciliatory  smile,  "  that  when 
women  work  so  hard,  night  and  day,  that  they  lose 
that  womanly  sweetness  that  is  so — ah — so  sweet  ? " 

He  didn't  care  a  pin  for  the  whole  subject,  but 
he  wasn't  easily  suppressed,  and  found  his  inclina- 
tion to  say  what  he  considered  witty  things  hard  to 
control.  "It  seems  to  me,"  he  added,  "that  those 
who  work  night  and  day  are  apt  to  be  like  a  barrel 
of  vinegar :  the  harder  and  longer  that  works,  the 
sourer  it  gets." 

"  Doesn't  that  depend  upon  whether  the  nature 
is  acid  at  the  outset  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Gray,  quietly. 

"  I  have  known  Mrs.  Bird  for  thirty  years,"  said 
Mrs.  Maitland,  "and  her  thin  little  body,  and  her 
thin  little  voice  have,  I  can  assure  you,  not  had  as 
a  companion  a  thin  little  soul.  The  difference  be- 
tween that  woman  and  the  rest  of  us  is,  that  the 
horror  and  misery  and  sin  of  the  world  are  a  reality 
to  her,  and  she  genuinely  cares  to  have  them  re- 
moved more  than  she  cares  for  her  own  comfort. 
I  have  heard  her  talk  of  the  wrongs  of  working 
women,  the  needs  of  tenement  house  children,  the 
sorrows  of  drunkards'  wives,  until  other  women 
wept,  and  those  who  never  cared  before  began  to 
care,  and  to  add  the  weight  of  their  influence  to 
the  work  she  was  trying  to  do." 

"  But  is  it  the  weight  of  real  influence  that  they 


230  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

add  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Holt.  "  In  Mrs.  Bengali's  case, 
what  weight  is  added,  except  " — she  went  on  almost 
under  her  breath — "  possibly  the  weight  of  so  many 
pounds  avoirdupois." 

"  I  know  she  succeeds  in  making  women  tempo- 
rarily ashamed  of  their  indifference,"  added  Mrs. 
Egbert,  "and  now  and  then  she  attaches  one  to 
her,  and  tugs  her  about  from  meeting  to  meeting. 
There  is  Mrs.  Jennings,  for  example.  How  much 
is  the  influence  of  such  a  follower  worth  ? " 

"  Yet  you  must  admit,"  said  Mrs.  Holt,  looking 
up  into  the  colonel's  kind  face  for  support,  "  that 
Mrs.  Jennings'  life  was  all  fun  and  farce  till  Mrs. 
Bird  convinced  her  that  it  was  a  woman's  duty  to 
have  views,  and  to  believe  in  things,  and  to  aid  in 
the  coming  solidarity  of  her  sex  ;  and  Mrs.  Bird 
really  has  developed  her  out  of  her  jelly-fish  exist- 
ence into  a  vertebrate  creature.  She  found  her 
mucilaginous.  She  knew  she  would  stick  to  some- 
thing, and  she  got  her  to  stick  to  her,  and  the  ver- 
tebrae have  developed  until  Mrs.  Jennings  now 
really  dares  speak  out  her  new  ideas  in  the  face  and 
eyes,  or  I  should  say  in  the  ears,  of  her  fashionable 
friends.  True,  it  doesn't  matter  in  the  least  to  her 
hearers  or  to  herself  that  the  ideas  she  advances 
are  not  her  own,  but  Mrs.  Bird's.  In  fact,  she 
doesn't  know  it ;  but  even  that  doesn't  matter,  for  I 
fancy  not  many  of  her  hearers  would  ever  find  it  out." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Gray,  thoughtfully.  "And  why 
should  it  matter  ?  The  idea,  if  it  is  of  any  value, 
is  the  only  thing  that  is  of  consequence,  and  I  have 
always  felt  that  in  women's  work,  as  in  men's,  there 
must  come  a  day  when  the  question  of  who  says  it 


KATHARINE   GRAY  23! 

or  who  does  it  shall  sink  into  insignificance,  and  the 
question  of  the  thing  said  and  done  shall  be  the 
only  thing  of  importance." 

"  That  means  the  millennium,"  said  Judge  Wal- 
ton, a  white-haired  senator,  and  one  of  Mrs.  Mait- 
land's  oldest  friends.  "  But  every  new  and  right 
thought  is  one  more  mite  taken  from  the  great  sum 
of  evil  and  added  to  the  little  sum  of  good.  If  life 
is  worth  having  at  all,  the  little  mountain  of  good 
must  some  day  overtop  the  other." 

"  And  I  suppose  the  real  business  of  life,"  said 
Gretta,  who  had  watched  and  listened,  but  had  said 
almost  nothing  hitherto,  "  the  chief  business  of 
life  must  be  the  carrying  of  mites  of  evil  away  from 
one  mountain,  and  the  carrying  of  mites  of  good  to 
the  other." 

"  That  is  the  reason,  perhaps,  why  we  are  sent 
to  the  ants  for  an  example,"  said  Dr.  Moore.  "  I 
sometimes  wonder  if  to  the  higher  intelligences  of 
other  worlds  our  small  life,  and  our  ways  of  con- 
ducting affairs  upon  our  planet,  may  not  seem  as 
the  work  of  the  ant-builders  seems  to  us.  If  we 
could  find  out  the  laws  of  our  existence,  and  follow 
them  with  the  obedience  which  those  little  creatures 
show,  we  should  all  build  to  better  purpose." 

"But  you  cannot  think,"  said  Mrs.  Egbert,  re- 
turning to  the  attack,  "that  the  building  is  to  be 
done  by  women's  banding  together  in  great  organi- 
zations, and  turning  the  world  upside  down  and 
wrong  side  out,  and  shaking  it  as  hard  as  they  can, 
to  shake  the  iniquity  out  of  it,  fancying  that  we  can 
then  set  it  upright,  and  make  it  go  on  after  an 
improved  scheme  of  our  own.  Now  I  have  known, 


232  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

ever  since  your  Easter  party,  that  the  eyes  of  the 
organized  women  have  been  fixed  upon  our  friend, 
Mrs.  Gray,  as  a  possible  coming  leader  in  what  they 
call  their  glorious  fields.  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Gray 
must  see  all  such  efforts  from  quite  another  point 
of  view." 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Maitland's  eyes  rested,  with 
some  anxiety,  on  Katharine's  face.  It  was  true 
she  had  now  position,  influence,  home,  and  the  use 
of  wealth.  The  brave  old  soul  that  would  stand 
by  every  good  work,  however  feeble,  had  its  inward 
trembling  lest  she  might  have  given  all  these  outward 
advantages  to  a  woman  who  would  not  understand 
that  their  only  value  was  their  power  to  bless  and 
comfort  and  heal  the  suffering  of  the  world.  It  was 
only  an  instant,  but  in  that  instant  Katharine  knew 
the  older  heart's  desire.  There  was  left  in  her 
still  something  of  that  vague  feeling  that  the  good 
she  might  do  would  atone  for  the  evil  she  had  done. 
In  any  case,  she  was  not  going  to  let  Mrs.  Maitland 
feel  any  disappointment  in  her  chosen  almoner  and 
friend.  Her  face  glowed  with  excitement  as  she 
answered  in  a  voice  that,  while  it  was  low,  could  be 
distinctly  heard  about  the  board  :  "  I  have  had  little 
observation  and  less  experience,  but  it  seern,s  to  me 
the  highest  honor  that  can  come  to  any  woman  is 
the  privilege  of  working  in  any  field  that  means 
the  uplifting  and  strengthening  and  comforting  of 
human  bodies  or  souls.  I  have  not  yet  been  asked 
to  help,  but  be  very  sure  that  if  I  am,  I  shall  not 
hesitate  to  try  to  do  my  best."  And  she  motioned 
to  the  servant  to  wheel  away  Mrs.  Maitland's  chair, 
while  she  rose  with  the  gentle  dignity  that  was 


KATHARINE  GRAY  233 

becoming  her  habitual  manner,  and  led  the  way 
back  to  the  parlor. 

The  time  between  that  Easter  holiday  and  the 
June  Commencement  passed  all  too  quickly,  and  the 
little  stir  of  social  pleasure,  and  the  interests  arising 
from  it,  seemed  to  have  given  Mrs.  Maitland  a  new 
lease  of  life.  As  the  journey  was  short  and  could 
be  taken  by  carriage,  it  was  possible  for  Gretta  to 
have  the  desire  of  her  heart,  and  see  the  beautiful 
old  lady  in  the  seat  of  honor  in  the  midst  of  the 
throng  on  the  day  of  her  graduation. 

Dr.  Moore  was  there  too.  He  was  a  lover  of 
music,  and  no  mean  musician  himself,  and  yet  it 
was  not  the  music  so  much  as  the  young  singing 
teacher  that  drew  him  to  Castleton  that  day. 

It  was  indeed  a  proud  day  for  Katharine,  as  any 
one  could  see.  It  was  also  a  bitter  day,  as  no  one 
who  observed  her  would  have  dreamed.  Her  dis- 
appointment at  Gretta's  refusal  to  take  the  college 
course  was  lessened  somewhat,  for  much  that  it 
would  have  brought  both  to  Gretta  and  herself  was 
coming  without  it,  and  the  four  years  more  of  study 
made  four  years  longer  for  them  to  wait  for  the  life 
that  seemed  already  crowding  upon  both. 

Gretta  had  led  her  class.  There  had  been  several 
conferences  concerning  the  choice  of  a  graduating 
theme,  and  on  several  subjects  proposed  by  Mrs. 
Gray  the  girl  had  labored  earnestly  and  long. 
Finally,  during  their  last  interview,  Gretta  had  said 
to  her  :  "  I  cannot  write  to  my  satisfaction  on  either 
of  those  topics.  It  may  be  that  my  heart  isn't  in 
them.  But  I  have  been  here  all  these  years,  auntie ; 
I  know  all  these  young  girls,  and  many  of  them  I 


234  THE   TEMPTATION  OF 

love.  It  is  we  who  are  going  out  into  the  new  life 
together.  There  are  many  things  that  I  would  like 
to  say  to  them.  I  am  going  to  give  up  the  effort 
to  write  a  fine  essay,  and  try  to  put  into  my  little 
paper  some  of  these  things  that  I  know  I  shall 
never  have  an  opportunity  to  say  again." 

"  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  sermonize, 
Gretta.  You  have  neither  the  years  nor  the  expe- 
rience to  make  you  a  counselor  of  other  girls. 
Why  should  you  put  yourself  in  the  rdle  of  a 
teacher  ? " 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  that,  auntie.  It  is  not  as  a 
teacher  or  as  a  counselor  that  I  want  to  speak  to 
them,  but  simply  as  another  girl.  Let  me  do  the 
thing  that  is  in  my  heart,  auntie.  It  may  not  please 
you  so  well.  It  may  not  seem  brilliant  or  fine  ;  but 
you  know  I  do  not  care  for  brilliant  or  fine  or  clever 
things.  I  shall  fail  if  I  attempt  them.  I  have  faith- 
fully tried  to  carry  out  the  whole  course  of  study 
as  you  thought  best.  Can  you  not  trust  me  in  this, 
even  if  I  have  my  way  ?  "  And  Katharine  yielded, 
only  begging  her  not  to  inflict  upon  her  audience  a 
prosy  and  pious  talk. 

And  when  the  hour  came,  in  the  flower-decked 
chapel  of  the  school,  and  the  low  strains  of  the 
music  had  died  away,  and  the  exercises  were  nearly 
over,  and  the  slender  girl,  who  had  sat  in  her  seat 
half  hidden  by  the  platform's  waving  palms,  stood 
before  them  and  talked,  without  her  paper,  with  no 
oratorical  effort  or  effect,  but  gently  and  sweetly,  as 
a  young  girl  would  speak  to  other  young  girls,  Mrs. 
Gray's  disappointment  changed  to  a  feeling  of  grati- 
fied and  exultant  pride  that  for  a  moment  overswept 


KATHARINE   GRAY  235 

that  swelling  sorrow  in  her  heart,  that  must  ever 
and  ever  be  hidden.  She  could  not  be  the  first  to 
put  out  her  arms  after  it  was  over,  and  let  the  whole 
world  see  and  know  that  this  beautiful  girl,  pure  and 
true  as  she  was  fair,  was  every  bit  her  own.  This 
sorrow  laid  its  silent,  cold  hand  upon  her,  while  lips 
and  eyes  were  smiling  and  kept  her  heart  weeping 
hot  tears  of  longing  and  trouble  and  shame. 

She  bent  her  head  that  she  might  not  lose  one 
word.  When  she  heard  the  subject  she  started 
nervously,  but  from  that  moment  never  lost  a  sylla- 
ble. Gretta  was  speaking  of  the  power  and  value 
of  the  Christian  principle  of  love  and  service  in 
human  life,  and  especially  in  the  woman  life  of  our 
day.  Choosing  the  highest  embodiment  of  that 
principle,  she  called  her  subject  "  One  in  the 
Midst."  With  rapid  and  picturesque  lines  she  re- 
vealed the  effect  of  the  principles  embodied  in  the 
life  of  Christ,  in  the  history,  the  institutions,  the 
governments,  the  social  conditions,  the  home,  and 
the  individual  life  of  the  world.  With  outlines 
rapid,  strong,  and  vivid,  she  opened  up  the  con- 
ditions in  all  of  these  lines  resulting  from  the  lack 
of  the  principles  that,  wherever  in  human  lives  they 
have  been  truly  operative,  have  made  for  righteous- 
ness and  peace. 

With  discrimination  that  showed  how  carefully 
she  had  thought  and  read,  she  traced  the  develop- 
ment of  every  phase  of  human  progress  that  had, 
as  a  governing  power,  set  Christ  in  the  midst ;  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  showed  how  the  horrors  of  war, 
the  persecutions  of  bigotry,  the  pangs  of  poverty, 
ignorance,  degradation,  and  shame  had  cursed  the 


236  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

world  and  debased  human  existence  wherever  the 
life  of  Christ  had  had  no  place  or  power.  And 
when  from  these  broader,  general  considerations  she 
turned  to  the  individual  life,  and  especially  to  the 
woman  life  of  the  day,  and  outlined  what  might  be 
the  highest  type  of  Christian  womanhood,  dwelling 
pitifully  upon  what  it  must  be,  lacking  this  vivifying 
and  ennobling  force,  Katharine,  who  had  followed 
eagerly  every  word,  began  to  feel  as  if  the  eyes  of 
this  child  had  read  and  were  depicting  the  condi- 
tion of  things  in  her  own  unhappy  soul.  For  a  few 
moments,  as  the  girl  went  on,  she  questioned 
whether  the  secrets  of  her  inner  life  and  purpose 
and  motives  had  been  read  by  these  purer  eyes  that 
had  never  looked  upon  her  with  one  shadow  of  sus- 
picion clouding  their  smile  of  trust. 

For  a  moment  the  whole  room  swam  before  her, 
but  rallying  with  an  effort,  she  listened  through  all 
those  last  words  of  earnest  pleading  with  these,  who 
were  going  forth  with  her  into  the  struggle  of  life, 
to  touch  nothing,  to  have  nothing,  to  do  nothing,  to  be 
nothing  in  which  and  of  which  these  everlasting 
principles  should  not  be  the  center  and  the  soul. 
Rich,  fortunate,  educated,  influential,  yet  without 
Him  poor  and  empty  and  desolate  indeed.  With 
him,  having  nothing,  yet  possessing  all  things.  If 
they  had  learned  this  and  nothing  else  as  students, 
the  gain  outranked  the  loss,  and  it  mattered  little 
whether  into  joy  or  sorrow,  into  success  or  failure, 
into  life  or  death  they  passed  on,  if  only  ^t  the 
heart  of  life  they  kept  the  living  Christ. 

It  was  all  very  simple  and  very  gentle  and  very 
sweet,  and  yet  not  a  soul  there,  from  the  white- 


KATHARINE  GRAY  237 

haired  old  lady,  who  watched  her  through  her  tears, 
to  the  youngest  schoolmate  of  them  all,  that  did 
not  know  that  her  own  life  had  throned  and  crowned 
him,  and  that  he  was  indeed  the  living  presence  in 
the  midst. 

Many  flowers  came  to  her,  and  many  kind  and 
loving  words,  and  in  all  that  throng  there  was  only 
one  of  her  friends  who  uttered  never  a  word,  and  in 
whose  soul  was  anguish  where  no  one  else  was  sad. 

"Were  not  the  essays  excellent?"  asked  Miss 
Graham  of  Dr.  Moore  and  Judge  Conrad,  who  were 
standing  side  by  side. 

"  Yes,  beautiful,"  said  Moore,  heartily;  "and 
Miss  Wild's  most  beautiful  of  all.  Didn't  you  like 
it,  Conrad? " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  a  far-away  look  in  his 
eyes ;  "  I  liked  it  for  its  beauty,  but  most  of  all,  I 
like  it  for  its  truth."  And  Gretta,  who  stood  within 
hearing,  though  he  did  not  know  it,  felt  as  if  she 
had  received  the  word  above  all  praise. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

rPO  the  delight  of  all  who  knew  her,  Mrs.  Maitland 
1  continued  stronger,  and  the  following  winter 
was  one  of  such  social  pleasure  as  the  old  house 
had  not  known  for  many  and  many  a  year.  To 
this  new  phase  of  existence  Katharine  gave  herself 
with  all  her  powers.  She  had  allowed  herself  to  be 
made  a  director  and  prominent  helper  in  more  than 
one  phase  of  charitable  and  philanthropic  work,  and 
her  name  rapidly  became  known  as  one  who  might 
b.e  depended  upon  for  splendid  service,  that  showed 
all  the  enthusiasm  of  the  worker,  tempered  by  the 
wisdom  and  grace  of  the  woman  of  the  world. 
Everywhere  she  was  the  chaperon  and  sharer  of 
the  social  life  that  came  in  full  measure  to  Gretta, 
and  in  which  was  included  Miss  Graham,  as  often 
as  Gretta  could  persuade  her  away  for  a  day  or  two 
from  her  duties  at  Castleton. 

It  might  have  been  to  Gretta,  had  she  chosen  it, 
a  time  of  absorption  in  purely  social  life ;  but  Mrs. 
Maitland  had  encouraged  the  girl's  tendency  to 
devote  herself,  in  part,  to  those  subjects  and  objects 
that  pertained  to  general  warfare.  The  girl  was, 
therefore,  the  sharer  of  every  phase  of  Katharine's 
philanthropic  work.  Together  they  tried  to  make 
practical  studies  of  the  problems  of  the  poor,  and  in 
all  their  efforts  they  had  the  constant  aid  and  stim- 
ulus of  the  experience  of  Judge  Conrad  and  Doc- 
tor Moore. 
238 


KATHARINE  GRAY  239 

Other  beautiful  and  wealthy  young  girls  followed 
readily  in  the  wake  of  Gretta's  pursuits,  and  the 
old  mansion  at  Wildholm  became  a  center,  not  only 
of  social  and  intellectual  life,  but  of  helpful  influence 
in  behalf  of  everything  that  was  uplifting,  benefi- 
cent, and  true. 

The  west  wing-  kept  always  its  quota  of  invalids 
and  the  aged,  and  it  was  well  understood  that  soon 
or  late  the  wing  would  become  fully,  as  it  was  now 
in  a  marked  degree,  a  place  where  theories  might 
be  subjected  to  the  test  of  practical  experiment. 

In  one  sense  Katharine  was  happier  than  she 
had  ever  been  before.  Everybody  admired,  re- 
spected, and  looked  up  to  her.  She  was  a  recog- 
nized power  socially  as  well  as  in  her  various  fields 
of  labor,  and  the  distance  between  her  heart  and 
Gretta's  seemed  in  a  measure  bridged  by  their 
mutual  interests  and  work. 

Among  Gretta's  special  duties  and  pleasures  were 
watchfulness  of  Mrs.  Maitland  and  the  sharing  with 
Mrs.  Maitland  of  the  ministry  to  all  the  inmates  of 
the  old  west  wing.  Its  invalid  rooms  were  always 
open  to  patients  of  Dr.  Moore,  and  as,  from  time  to 
time,  either  Gretta  or  Miss  Graham,  who  was  an  en- 
thusiast with  reference  to  the  interests  of  children 
and  working  girls,  or  even  Mr.  Conrad,  who  had  not 
by  any  means  abandoned  his  own  investigations  in 
fields  of  practical  service,  discovered  a  poor  creature 
needing  the  sort  of  kindness  and  care  that  Wild- 
holm  could  offer,  they  brought  the  sufferer  there. 

Katharine  was  always  ready  with  counsel  and 
suggestion,  but  it  was  the  younger  women  who 
shared  more  especially  with  Mrs.  Maitland  the 


240  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

work  of  comforting,  encouraging,  cheering,  and 
coaxing  these  poor  waifs  of  humanity  back  into 
more  hopeful  ways  of  life.  The  children  fell  more 
especially  to  Gretta's  care,  and  it  was  she  who  cod- 
dled and  played  with  them,  guided  and  chided  and, 
feeling  that  life  would  be  hard  enough  for  them  by- 
and-by,  resolved  that  they  should  be  happy  at  least 
while  sheltered  by  the  old  west  wing. 

The  place  was  not  large,  and  those  who  went  out 
from  it  to  new  situations,  or  back  to  their  homes 
after  recovery  from  illness,  especially  the  young 
girls,  fell  to  Miss  Graham's  care,  until  there  grew 
to  be  enough  of  them  to  make  almost  a  parish  of 
her  own. 

And  such  was  her  delicacy  and  skill  in  dealing 
with  their  various  dispositions,  and  in  coaxing  them 
out  of  their  discontent  and  self-pity  and  rebellion, 
that  Mrs.  Maitland  sometimes  said,  "  I  cannot  con- 
ceive where  you  ever  learned  it,  Margaret.  One 
would  suppose  that  you  had  lived  each  one  of  their 
separate  lives  yourself." 

A  sudden  shadow  swept  down  over  the  girl's 
bright  face,  and  she  turned  away  hurriedly,  saying, 
"  I  cannot  do  very  much  for  them,  but  Gretta  says 
she  thinks  I  sing  them  into  being  good.  I  can  sing 
to  them  and  I  can  show  them  that  I  care." 

"  But  what  makes  you  care  ?  That  is  what  I  do 
not  understand." 

"One  has  to  care,"  she  answered,  softly,  "when 
one  knows,  and  I  think  everybody  does  care  who 
really  understands.  The  indifference  of  women  to 
the  suffering  of  other  women  is  only  because  they 
do  not  comprehend." 


KATHARINE  GRAY  241 

"  I  have  sometimes  hoped,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland, 
"that  this  work  might  develop  into  something  much 
larger  than  it  can  ever  be  in  my  lifetime,  and  I  do 
not  see  why  the  knowledge  of  the  life  of  every 
young  girl  who  comes  here  should  not  lead,  ulti- 
mately, to  the  knowledge  of  her  home,  and  all  the 
conditions,  circumstances,  surroundings,  and  influ- 
ences that  might  be  improved  therein.  Every 
young  girl  who  goes  away  from  here  ought  to  be  a 
co-worker  of  yours,  and  you  ought  to  become  like 
the  leader  of  a  spiritual  community,  Margaret,  with 
everybody  you  can  help  transformed  into  a  worker 
in  her  own  little  field  under  your  guidance  and 
care  " 

"  I  have  often  dreamed  of  such  a  life  as  that," 
said  Gretta,  eagerly ;  "  and  one  of  these  days,  per- 
haps Margaret  and  I  can  work  it  out  together. 
Margaret  can  only  leave  the  school  to  come  to  us 
from  Friday  until  Monday  now,  and  she  winds  the 
girls  up  for  me  with  the  pleasures  she  plans  for 
them  on  Saturday,  and  the  singing  service  on  Sun- 
day, so  that  they  run  beautifully  all  the  next  week. 
I  only  wish  that,  instead  of  a  handful,  we  had  a 
whole  army  to  hear  her  every  Sunday  afternoon." 

"Well,  one  of  these  days,",  said  Miss  Graham, 
gently,  "  when  we  are  through  with  the  music 
teaching,  it  may  be  that  life  will  take  such  shape 
that  I  can  give  it  entirely  to  such  work." 

"  Then  we  will  have  a  procession  of  our  working 
girl  and  tenement  house  acquaintances  and  friends, 
those  who  will  go  to  walk  somewhere  on  Sunday 
afternoons,  in  spite  of  our  advice  against  it,  turning 
their  steps  in  the  direction  of  Wildholm,"  said 

Q 


243  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

Gretta ;  "and  we  will  build  a  chapel  in'  that  little 
grove  beyond  the  west  wing,  and  Miss  Graham 
shall  talk  to  them  and  sing  to  them  and  send  them 
back  to  be  good  all  the  next  week.  Wouldn't  that 
be  lovely  ?  and  the  best  of  it  all  would  be  that  we 
would  have  Margaret  for  ourselves  every  day  in  the 
week." 

"  And  wouldn't  that  be  just  lovely  for  me  ? " 
said  Margaret,  with  enthusiasm,  smiling  up  into 
Mrs.  Maitland's  face. 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  would  be  just  lovely,"  said  a 
voice  behind  her,  as  Dr.  Moore  came  up  the  steps 
and  took  his  seat  by  Mrs.  Maitland's  side.  "  That 
would  be  just  lovely,"  he  repeated,  "to  have  her  all 
the  week."  But  before  Gretta  could  answer,  Miss 
Graham  had  put  her  hand  in  hers,  and  drawn  her 
within  the  door. 

"  To  whom  does  she  belong,  Mrs.  Maitland  ? ' 
asked  Dr.  Moore,  turning  earnestly  to  his  friend. 
"  Not  to  that  school,  surely  ;  I  am  inclined  to  think 
more  to  you  than  to  anybody  else.  Where  would 
anybody  go  who  wanted  her,  not  only  for  all  the 
week,  but  for  all  the  year  round ;  for  all  his  life,  in 
fact  ? " 

Mrs.  Maitland  smiled  back  into  his  eyes,  "  You 
have  wanted  her  a  long  time,  haven't  you?"  she 
said. 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  and  I  am  tired  of  waiting.  If  she 
belonged  to  you,  would  you  not  let  me  have  her?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  she  said,  fervently.  "  I  can 
never  be  grateful  enough  that  Gretta  should  have 
made  her  one  intimacy  with  a  friend  like  that. 
The  two  girls  are  like  sisters.  They  seem  to  be- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  243 

long  together.  They  are  both  Christian  women. 
Gretta  has  come  to  her  faith  by  very  easy  paths  ; 
sometimes  I  suspect  Miss  Graham  has  had  a  harder 
way." 

"  I  know  she  has,"  said  Dr.  Moore.  "  She  told 
me  that  she  had  had  years  of  doubting  whether 
there  was  any  goodness  in  God,  or  in  any  one  of 
his  creatures.  And  she  told  me  too,  that  you  and 
your  way  of  life  had  done  more  to  convince  her  of 
both  than  anything  else  that  had  ever  come  to 
her." 

"  Poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland.  "  I  fancy  she 
was  very  lonely  at  the  school,  and  to  come  out  to  us 
has  seemed  like  going  home.  Indeed  she  told  me 
once  that  this  was  the  only  Christian  home  that  she 
had  ever  seen.  You  knew,  I  presume,  that  she  had 
a  hard  struggle  to  secure  her  education.  She  has 
told  me  as  much  as  that,  and  I  suspect,  when  I  see 
her  in  her  ministry  to  other  young  women,  that  she 
has  known  more  of  the  hardships  of  the  bread- 
winner's life  than  she  has  told." 

"  Well,  however  that  may  be,"  he  answered,  with 
impetuosity,  "  I  think  she  has  had  hardship  enough, 
and  I  would  like  to  take  her  away  from  her  pupils." 

"  One  pupil  is  often  a  severer  task  upon  a  teacher 
than  many,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  playfully. 

"  Yes,  but  I  would  be  very  docile.  She  should 
teach  me  anything  she  liked." 

"  Well,  I  fancy  she  could  teach  us  all  some 
things.  I  am  sure  the  girl  has  had  great  experi- 
ence. Her  character  is  to  me  like  her  face,  all 
light  and  brightness  and  sparkle,  but  behind  it,  as 
if  just  waiting  to  drown  the  light,  a  great  back- 


244  THE   TEMPTATION   OF 

ground  of  shadow.  In  one  way  I  feel  that  she 
always  opens  her  whole  heart  to  me  ;  in  another  that 
I  do  not  know  her  at  all." 

"  Well,  I  know  enough,"  said  Dr.  Moore,  impul- 
sively, "to  be  satisfied  with  her  as  she  is  in  the 
present.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  her  past.  I 
am  sure  that,  whatever  it  has  been,  it  has  had  noth- 
ing but  goodness  in  it,  -and  I  would  like  to  carry 
her  off  this  very  afternoon,  little  crank  that  she  is, 
with  her  silver  cross  and  her  white  ribbon,  and  all 
the  rest  of  her  badges  and  pins,  and  she  might  re- 
form me  and  make  me  over  into  any  kind  of  mem- 
ber of  any  kind  of  circle  she  liked." 

"  Really  it  does  seem  a  desperate  situation,  Dr. 
Moore.  I  am  afraid  this  is  a  case  in  which  the 
physician  cannot  heal  himself." 

"  Just  that,  dear  Mrs.  Maitland.  And  it  is  a  con- 
tagious disease  too.  Conrad  has  it  as  bad  as  I, 
only  he  won't  tell  me  and  I  won't  tell  him.  I  don't 
imagine  he  suspects  me ;  but,  of  course,  as  far  as 
he  is  concerned,  it  is  written  all  over  his 'face." 

"  You  think  he  loves  Gretta  ? "  said  Mrs.  Mait- 
land, with  an  earnest  tender  tone,  that  revealed 
that  of  all  things  earthly  this  was  what  she  most 
desired. 

"  Loves  her !  Why  the  man  doesn't  know  how 
to  live  without  her.  Has  he  not  told  you  so  ? " 

"  Not  in  words,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland.  "  Have 
you  told  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  How  could  I  till  I  asked  you  if  I 
might  ? " 

"  And  yet  she  doesn't,  as  you  say,  belong  to 
me." 


KATHARINE   GRAY  245 

"  No,  but  you  have  grown  to  be  a  sort  of  mother 
to  us  all.  Conrad  feels  it  as  I  do.  By  the  way,  he 
got  tired  of  hotel  life,  and  he  is  coming  to  live  with 
me ;  and  I  have  grown  so  fond  of  my  dear  old 
patient,  and  she  is  so  much  improved,  that  I  am 
going  to  bring  her  back  to  Washington  again." 

"  Back  to  us  ? "  said  Mrs.  Maitland. 

"  No,  not  back  to  you.  I — "  and  he  hesitated, 
"  well,  for  one  reason  it  is  not  so  well  for  her  to  be 
here.  At  the  sanitarium  where  I  sent  her,  she  has 
grown  stronger  both  in  mind  and  body." 

"  What  was  the  adverse  influence  here  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Maitland.  "  You  know  I  was  very  feeble 
when  she  was  in  the  west  wing,  and  did  not  see  her 
much.  Mrs.  Gray  told  me  she  thought  it  was  better 
for  her  to  go." 

"  Well,  frankly,  Mrs.  Maitland,  it  was  Mrs.  Gray 
who  suggested  that  she  should  go." 

"  What !  You  surprise  me,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland, 
bending  forward  eagerly. 

"  Well,  speaking  professionally  and  psychologi- 
cally, I  can  only  say  that  the  action  and  reaction  of 
each  upon  the  other  did  not  seem  to  be  well  for  either. 
The  fact  is,  Mrs.  Maitland,  my  old  lady  was  always 
agitated  and  troubled  whenever  she  saw  Mrs.  Gray. 
On  her  part,  Mrs.  Gray  always  avoided  seeing  the 
patient,  if  possible,  and  if  by  chance  they  met,  my 
old  lady  was  always  in  a  strange  state  of  excite- 
ment thereafter ;  such  an  excitement,"  he  said, 
watching  Mrs.  Maitland,  "  as  in  other  cases  people 
similarly  afflicted  have  shown  when  there  is  a 
partial  recognition  and  an  association  with  their 
past  life.  This  is  not  the  only  case  of  this  kind 


246  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

that  I  have  had,  and,  judging  from  its  effect,  I 
should  say  that  the  two  had  known  each  other  in 
that  stage  of  my  patient's  existence  before  she  came 
into  her  present  state." 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Mrs.  Maitland.  "  And  yet, 
where  did  you  say  you  found  her  ? " 

"  In  a  hospital  in  Detroit." 

"  But  Mrs.  Gray  never  lived  in  Detroit.  She 
lived  in  Chicago." 

"  But  the  accident  by  which  this  woman's  brain 
was  injured  occurred  on  a  train  coming  from  Chi- 
cago to  Detroit.  May  they  not  have  known  each 
other  in  Chicago  ?  " 

"  In  that  case  wouldn't  Mrs.  Gray  remember  the 
woman  ?  She  never  said  one  word  or  gave  one  sign 
of  having  recognized  her." 

Moore  was  silent.  His  interest  in  the  case  was 
that  of  the  scientist  simply,  but  he  had  the  type  of 
mind  that  could  never  let  go  a  clue.  He  believed 
it  would  be  in  his  power  to  nurse  the  spark  of  rec- 
ollection until  from  it  he  might  kindle  to  a  flame  the 
embers  of  thought  smouldering  in  the  woman's 
mind.  In  Mrs.  Gray  he  had  found  his  only  clue. 
No  other  influence  had  seemed  to  arouse  the  woman 
to  any  agitation  of  pleasure  or  of  pain.  Gentle  and 
helpful  and  active,  but  strangely  silent,  a  dear  old 
body  with  kind  heart  and  willing  hands,  he  felt  that 
she  would  be  a  comfort  in  his  bachelor  home,  at  the 
same  time  that  he  could  study,  as  a  scientist,  the 
peculiar  phase  of  her  infirmity. 

As  he  rose,  thinking  to  find  Margaret  in  the 
garden,  whither  she  had  escaped  with  Gretta,  Mrs. 
Gray  came  on  to  the  veranda  dressed  for  a  drive. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  247 

As  she  passed  down  to  the  carriage,  Mrs.  Maitland 
called,  "  Stop  a  moment,  Katharine.  I  want  to  ask 
you  a  question.  Dr.  Moore  has  been  speaking  to 
me  about  the  silent  old  lady  who  was  in  the  west 
wing  for  a  while." 

Katharine  neither  shivered,  colored,  nor  paled,  as 
once  she  would  have  done  at  mention  of  the  woman. 

"  Dr.  Moore  says  that  she  never  has  given  any 
sign  of  recollection  of  anybody,  unless  her  agitation 
whenever  she  had  seen  you  was  an  indication  of 
some  association  with  you  in  her  mind.  Did  you 
ever  know  anything  about  her  ? '" 

"  What  was  her  name  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Gray,  qui- 
etly. 

"  That  is  one  of  the  things  I  do  not  know,  and 
one  of  the  things  she  seems  utterly  to  have  for- 
gotten. They  never  knew  at  the  hospital." 

"  Where  did  you  find  her  ?  "  asked  Katharine. 

"  In  a  hospital  in  Detroit." 

"  I  have  never  been  in  Detroit  except  to  pass  di- 
rectly through  upon  an  Eastern  or  Western-bound 
train." 

"  But  they  say  she  was  injured  in  an  accident  in 
coming  from  Chicago  to  Detroit,  somewhere  about 
fifteen  or  sixteen  years  ago." 

"  It  is  longer  than  that,  as  you  know,  Mrs.  Mait- 
land, since  I  have  been  in  Chicago." 

"  Oh,  of  course  then,  it  is  only  the  fancy  of  a 
clouded  mind,"  Mrs.  Maitland  said. 

All  this  time  Dr.  Moore  had  said  nothing ;  he 
only  watched  Katharine's  face.  As  she  turned  to 
go  away,  he  said,  "  Did  her  face  suggest  any  asso- 
ciation to  you,  Mrs.  Gray  ?  " 


248  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

A  flash  of  anger  came  to  her  eyes.  Did  he  think 
that  he  could  entrap  her  ? 

"  Certainly  not ;  why  should  it  ?  "  she  answered, 
quietly ;  and  then  resuming  her  cordial  manner,  "  I 
am  going  to  drive  your  way,  Dr.  Moore.  Will  you 
drive  with  me,  and  let  me  set  you  down  at  your 
door  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  indulge  myself  for  a  few  minutes 
longer  here."  But  he  walked  by  her  side  to  the  car- 
riage, and  lifted  his  hat  as  she  drove  away.  And 
Harold,  turning  back,  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  white 
frock  between  the  leaves  of  the  shrubbery,  and 
straightway  forgot  patients  and  science  and  every- 
thing but  a  dark  face,  with  eyes  that,  notwithstand- 
ing their  changing  gleams  and  shadows,  were  to 
him  like  the  stars  of  a  quiet  night. 

"Do  not  run  away  from  me,  Miss  Graham,"  he 
said,  with  characteristic  eagerness,  as  Margaret 
turned  toward  the  path  that  led  to  the  house.  "  I 
wonder  what  makes  you  always  do  that." 

"Do  what?"  she  asked,  a  little  glow  of  con- 
sciousness creeping  into  her  eyes. 

"Turn  away  when  I  am  coming." 

"  I  do  not  always  know  you  are  coming,"  she 
answered,  demurely. 

"  You  did  know  to-day.  It  seems  to  me  that  I 
have  been  coming  a  year  and  more,  always  trying  to 
get  nearer,  and  always  feeling  that  you  are  trying 
to  escape." 

She  picked  the  petals  from  a  flowering  shrub  by 
the  wayside. 

"  Lift  up  your  eyes,"  he  said,  impetuously.  "  The 
light  goes  out  of  your  face,  and  out  of  the  world 


KATHARINE   GRAY  249 

for  me,  when  you  hide  them.  Listen  to  me,  little 
one.  You  know  me.  I  am  a  hard-working,  serious 
man.  My  youth  is  gone.  I  have  behind  me  a  life 
of  struggle."  She  glanced  swiftly  up  into  his  face. 
"Yes,"  he  went  on,  answering  the  question  her 
eyes  asked,  "  a  life  of  struggle.  Every  man  who  is 
good  for  anything  must  fight  with  himself,  with 
circumstances,  with  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the 
devil.  By  God's  help,"  he  added,  reverently,  "  I 
have  not  been  always  and  utterly  defeated.  But  in 
all  my  struggles  I  have  been  alone,  and  I  have 
walked  much  of  the  way  in  the  dark." 

He  paused  suddenly.  Over  his  head  a  long,  low 
bird-note  thrilled  the  summer  air. 

"  Look  up,  Margaret,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Let  me 
go  on  in  the  light."  He  waited.  "  Only  look,"  he 
whispered,  "  I  shall  find  my  answer  in  your  eyes." 

And  he  found  it,  though  when  she  lifted  them 
the  light  seemed  drowned  in  happy  tears. 

From  her  arm-chair  on  the  veranda,  Mrs.  Mait- 
land  saw  two  figures  arm  in  arm,  go  slowly  up  and 
down  the  myrtle  walk.  It  was  a  very  punctual 
household,  but  when  the  old  butler  came  to 
announce  dinner,  she  said,  "  Let  it  wait  awhile, 
'Lijah.  We  are  not  ready  to  dine  just  yet ; "  and  she 
added,  as  he  departed,  "  see  that  a  cover  is  laid  for 
Dr.  Moore." 

And  they  waited  till,  when  they  came  she  saw 
on  Margaret's  breast  a  cluster  of  white  roses  from 
the  farthest  hedge,  and  she  held  out  her  hands  to 
them,  and  drew  Margaret's  face  down  and  kissed 
her.  Harold's  face  was  radiant.  He  was  walking 
in  the  light. 


350  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

And  as  the  succeeding  weeks  sped  on,  these  two, 
loving  with  all  the  strength  of  mature  manhood  and 
womanhood,  seemed  to  have  gone  back  into  the 
full  glow  of  early  youth.  Margaret  continued  to  do 
beautiful  service,  having  charge  of  the  singing  in 
the  Castleton  Institute,  and  Harold  worked  hard  at 
his  profession,  busying  himself  in  the  intervals  fit- 
ting up  the  new  house  which  was  to  be  his  home, 
which,  at  least  while  he  maintaind  bachelor  quarters, 
was  to  be  shared  by  Theodore  Conrad.  Yet  through 
all  the  girl's  singing  ran  the  undertone  of  the 
new  song  that  her  heart  had  been  learning,  and 
through  all  his  work  ran  the  fervor  of  the  love  and 
light  that  had  come  into  his  life.  She  never  sang 
so  well,  and  his  patients  never  before  found  him  so 
tender  and  so  strong.  And  every  Friday  afternoon, 
by  special  arrangement,  she  came  away  from  duties 
at  the  school  to  take  up  duties  that  seemed  even 
more  congenial  to  her,  among  the  poor  and  the  sick 
and  the  suffering  who  were  Mrs.  Maitland's  special 
charge. 

The  winter  that  followed  Gretta's  graduation 
found  Mrs.  Maitland  still  in  comfortable  health, 
happy  herself  and  ready  to  fill  the  days  with  every 
pleasure  for  those  she  loved.  It  was  altogether  a 
wonderful  season  for  opportunity  and  enjoyment. 
Wildholm  took  on  the  old  open-house  aspect  of  Mrs. 
Maitland's  earlier  days.  Mrs.  Gray  made  a  charm- 
ing hostess,  meeting  every  social  demand  with  such 
native  tact  as  kept  the  older  woman  always  in 
everybody's  mind,  yet  relieved  her  from  all  care. 

Gretta  was  not  only  the  light  and  life  of  the 
house,  but  a  great  favorite  in  the  large  circle  of 


KATHARINE   GRAY  251 

young  friends  with  whom  she  shared  her  pleasures, 
and  who,  drawn  by  the  influence  of  her  sunny, 
loving  spirit,  came  to  share  the  work  and  plans  for 
others  which  made  her  own  young  life  such  a  bless- 
ing to  the  poor. 

She  had  drawn  them  to  each  other  and  to  herself, 
singly  or  in  their  pet  groups  and  cliques,  caring 
little  whether  they  put  on  yellow  ribbon,  or  white, 
or  purple,  whether  they  wore  Maltese  cross  or 
cross  fleurie,  or  no  cross  at  all,  so  that  they  came  to 
think  and  feel  and  work  in  accord  with  the  spirit 
that  led  her  not  only  to  work,  but  to  wear,  unhesi- 
tatingly, anything  that  showed  the  world  she 
belonged  in  its  working  force. 

With  these  influences  permeating  its  circles  as 
never  before,  there  was  no  lack  of  the  elements 
representing  the  social  as  well  as  the  religious  and 
charitable  life  at  the  "  Conference  of  Women 
Workers  "  in  all  charitable  lines,  that  took  place  at 
midwinter. 

The  meetings  were  held  in  one  of  the  most  beau- 
tiful churches,  where  the  light  falling  through  the 
stained  glass  windows  was  saved  from  too  somber 
and  subdued  a  tone  by  countless  flowers  that 
nodded  and  smiled  and  filled  the  air  with  an  incense 
of  their  own. 

Here  were  gathered  from  all  sections  of  the 
country  the  thinkers,  the  writers,  the  careful  stu- 
dents of  one  phase  or  another  of  human  need,  and 
the  earnest  seekers  of  the  wisest  and  surest  ways  to 
help. 

The  gentleness  and  dignity  and  earnestness  of 
the  entire  proceedings  suited  the  place  and  the 


253  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

topics.  The  power  of  motherhood  as  a  strong 
factor  in  training  citizens  and  patriots  was  empha- 
sized by  women  who  knew  what  they  meant  when 
they  talked  of  what  was  needed  to  uplift  the  nation 
from  degradation  and  redeem  it  from  its  shame. 
These  were  followed  by  women  who  had  proven  by 
years  of  labor  for  women  and  children  in  foreign 
lands,  or  by  searching  out  and  saving  the  little  ones 
from  the  degradation  of  our  great  cities,  that  they 
were  ready  to  make  of  their  outstretched  arms  an 
orphanage  for  the  world's  childhood,  and  of  their 
beating  hearts  a  bulwark  against  its  ever-rising  tide 
of  misery  and  sin. 

Starting  out  with  strong  emphasis  of  all  home 
influence  and  all  motherly  responsibility,  the  range 
of  topics  widened,  including  the  causes  and  cure  of 
the  pauperism,  intemperance,  and  Grime  that  crowd 
out  from  our  individual  and  national  life  "  what- 
soever things  are  true  and  whatsoever  things  are 
pure." 

There  were  many  thoughtful  and  well-considered 
papers ;  one  now  and  then  that  showed  heart  with 
little  thought,  or  others  that  showed  research  with- 
out zeal.  Statistics,  sentiments,  and  sympathies 
sometimes  got  in  each  other's  way,  and  now  and 
then  an  intemperate  and  intolerant  plea  for  tem- 
perance and  tolerance  found  a  place  for  utterance, 
and  gave  perhaps  a  little  ground  for  criticism. 

But  as  a  whole  the  press  was  patronizingly 
patient,  condescendingly  consenting  that  women 
should  vary  their  excitements  by  this  sort  of  play 
at  public  service  if  they  chose.  It  spoke  of  the 
conferences  with  the  good-natured  air  of  the  strong 


KATHARINE   GRAY  253 

man  who  did  not  object  to  his  wife's  beating  him, 
on  the  ground  that  she  was  such  a  little  thing  that 
it  did  not  hurt  him,  while  it  always  diverted  her. 

Once  or  twice  an  earnest  divine,  one  on  whose 
lips  women  hung  admiringly,  or  a  glorious  reformer 
at  whose  shrine  they  were  proud  to  worship,  felt  it 
his  duty  to  whet  his  pen  point  to  the  sharpness 
of  the  dissecting  knife,  and  to  cut  all  so-called 
"women's  movements"  into  infinitesimal  bits  which 
were  divided  among  the  sermons  that  aimed  at  sav- 
ing the  souls  of  the  misguided  sex,  and  the  columns 
of  journals  for  women  which  paid  for  the  results  of 
the  vivisection  at  so  many  dollars  a  column. 

Yet  with  strange  lack  of  appreciation  of  all  such 
self-sacrificing  efforts  for  their  redemption,  the 
women  went  on,  doing  some  things  well,  some  ill. 
They  were  a  school  of  learners,  just  awakened  to 
the  conviction  that  they  were  under  solemn  obliga- 
tion to  know  the  real  conditions  of  other  human 
lives  and  to  help  to  make  them  better  if  they  might. 

To  Gretta  and  the  young  women  she  had  brought 
with  her,  much  that  was  seen  and  heard  was  like 
glimpses  into  an  unknown  world.  None  listened 
more  earnestly  than  these  young  society  girls  to  the 
needs  as  outlined  by  those  older  and  wiser  than 
themselves,  none  were  more  eager  and  enthusiastic 
in  their  desire  to  learn  practical  methods  of  using 
their  own  best  forces  for  relief.  They  were  in  their 
seats  all  day,  and  Mrs.  Gray,  who  had  been  urged 
to  preside  at  the  evening  session,  was  already  in  her 
seat  against  the  background  of  nodding  palms.  The 
light  was  not  yet  fully  on  as  she  looked  out  over 
the  gathering  audience,  but  she  caught  a  picture  of 


254  TH3  TEMPTATION  OF 

Gretta's  bright  eager  face  as  the  center  of  this 
group  of  lovely  girls. 

In  a  pew  a  little  farther  back  sat  Theodore,  and 
farther  still,  near  the  door,  was  Dr.  Moore,  and 
beside  him  a  gentle-faced  old  woman  in  a  close 
bonnet  and  soft  gray  dress  of  Quaker  style  and  hue. 
Two  days  since,  Harold  had  gone  to  the  sanitarium 
where  he  took  her  when  she  left  Wildholm,  and  he 
had  returned  with  her  only  to-night  and  installed 
her  in  his  new  home. 

There  was  no  time  for  him  to  flee  away  to  get  a 
look  at  Margaret,  but  he  knew  by  her  letters  that 
she  was  to  sing  at  the  great  convention.  He  must 
hear  her.  Theodore  was  away  at  Wildholm  no 
doubt.  The  old  lady  seemed  restless  and  tired  in 
her  new  surroundings  and  he  feared  she  would  be 
nervous  and  unhappy  without  him,  yet  he  must 
hear  Margaret  sing.  Ready  with  expedients,  he 
took  his  patient  with  him.  He  would  see  the  face 
and  hear  the  voice  he  loved ;  and  she  would  be 
happy,  and  diversion  was  one  of  the  remedies  from 
which  he  hoped  a  cure. 

Notwithstanding  the  prominence  Katharine  had 
taken  in  recent  years  in  charitable  work,  she  had 
heretofore  resisted  any  appearance  upon  a  public 
platform,  and  had  only  consented  to  preside  to-night 
at  Mrs.  Maitland's  request  and  promise  to  be  with 
her.  As  she  sat  there  for  the  first  time,  the  charm 
of  her  proud,  reserved  face  deepened  by  the  beauty 
of  her  iron-gray  hair,  Gretta  glanced  backward  to 
find  repeated  in  Theodore's  face  her  own  sense  of 
gratified  pride.  How  graceful  and  gracious  !  How 
thoroughly  suited  to  the  occasion  and  the  place  she 


KATHARINE   GRAY  255 

seemed !  On  her  right  sat  Mrs.  Maitland,  whose 
infirmities  rarely  allowed  her  to  leave  home,  but 
who  could  not  on  an  occasion  like  this  withhold  the 
sanction  of  her  presence.  Near  her  was  Miss  Gra- 
ham, who  had  consented  to  lighten  the  more  serious 
programme  with  her  songs.  Behind  them  on  the 
platform  were  statesmen,  clergymen,  representatives 
of  science  and  philanthropy,  and  distinguished  and 
beautiful  women.  Forgetting  that  she  was  before 
the  eyes  of  all  the  people,  Katharine  waited  and 
gazed  out  upon  the  picture  like  one  in  a  pleasant 
dream.  She  felt  the  softened  light,  the  low  strains 
of  the  organ,  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers,  and 
watched  the  slow  procession  of  people,  among  whom 
she  recognized  a  host  of  friends,  as  they  moved 
down  the  aisle  and  were  lost  in  the  audience  like  a 
stream  swallowed  up  in  the  sea.  The  sense  of 
comfort  and  well-being  was  all  new  and  delicious  to 
her.  The  old  harassed  and  tortured  existence 
seemed  to  have  slipped  away  into  the  background 
and  in  its  place  was  this  new  life  of  ease,  and  pleas- 
ant words  and  smiles,  the  every-day  and  simple 
pleasures  that  are  the  common  experience.  Now 
they  were  hers.  She  had  never  before  been  allowed 
to  feel  that  they  were  hers.  She  had  been  able  to 
know  these  simple  things  only  as  the  result  of  labor 
and  struggle  and  shame.  Now  there  was  no  need 
to  struggle  any  longer  for  herself  or  for  her  child. 
It  was  delicious  to  cease  to  fight  and  watch,  and  to 
have  things  come  of  themselves. 

Suddenly  the  light  deepened,  as  when  the  sun 
moves  out  from  under  a  cloud,  and  tossing  plumes, 
and  waving  fans,  and  gay  attire,  and  fair  faces,  and 


256  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

bright  eyes,  lay  illuminated  before  her.  The  organ 
notes  softened,  and  then  out  upon  the  beauty  and 
the  radiance  floated  Miss  Graham's  voice.  Under 
its  spell  the  people  held  their  breath,  and  as  the 
strains  rose  and  fell,  bearing  all  hearts  upon  their 
melody,  Katharine  knew  that  Mrs.  Maidand  must 
have  chosen  the  music,  for  these  were  the  words 
that  Margaret  sang : 

"  The  Lord  thy  God — in  the  midst — in  the  midst 
of  thee  is  mighty  ;  he  will  save,  he  will  rejoice  over 
thee  with  joy  ;  he  will  rest  in  his  love."  And  as 
she  sang,  Mrs.  Gray's  eyes  wandered  over  the 
throng,  seeing  Theodore,  whose  face  reflected  rev- 
erently the  singer's  words,  and  Mrs.  Maitland's 
eyes  shining  through  grateful  tears,  and  Gretta's 
face  gleaming  like  a  star,  and  farther  on  her  gaze 
rested  upon  a  face  that  suddenly  gleamed  out  from 
the  standing  group  under  a  stained  glass  window — 
a  man's  face,  haggard  and  scarred  with  marks  of 
wasted  years  and  unrepented  sin  —  the  face  of 
Robert  Gray. 

Then  the  great  throng  rocked  and  swung  before 
her,  and  her  deathly  white  face  stared  straight  on 
beyond  all  to  that  other  face  that  stood  still  though 
everything  else  swayed,  while  above  it,  in  the 
stained  glass  window's  mosaic  of  crimson  and  blue 
and  gold  was  a  figure  of  St.  Michael  above  the 
cringing  form  of  the  dragon,  poising  the  glittering 
sword. 

It  was  her  place  as  presiding  officer  to  announce 
the  next  item  on  the  programme.  The  music 
ceased.  Not  a  word  of  what  she  meant  to  say 
would  come,  but  written  on  her  brain  as  she  had 


KATHARINE  GRAY  257 

heard  it  sung  over  and  over,  were  the  words  that 
made  her  first  public  testimony  uttered  uncon- 
sciously and  quite  against  her  will.  In  a  clear, 
solemn  tone  she  said,  reverently  :  "  The  Lord  thy 
God  in  the  midst  of  thee  is  mighty — he  is  here,  in 
the  midst.  The  Rev.  Bishop  Reynolds  will  lead  us 
in  prayer  ;  "  and  while  their  heads  were  bowed,  she 
passed  swiftly  through  the  door  that  led  to  the  pas- 
tor's study.  Neither  Mrs.  Maitland  nor  Margaret 
had  taken  special  note  of  her  words,  but  Gretta's 
heart  gave  a  great  throb  of  gratitude  to  hear  the 
lips  that  heretofore  had  always  seemed  to  shrink 
from  uttering  the  "name  that  is  above  every 
name,"  that  never,  even  at  home,  joined  audibly  in 
hymn  or  prayer,  thus  make  their  first  public  utter- 
ance a  word  that  turned  all  hearts  toward  Him. 
She  prayed  earnestly,  but  even  through  her  prayer 
she  was  conscious  of  a  movement,  a  step,  a  pres- 
ence, and  she  lifted  her  head  to  see  Theodore  pass- 
ing noiselessly  forward  down  the  aisle.  She  fol- 
lowed. Katharine  was  sitting  bolt  upright  in  the 
pastor's  study  chair,  like  a  woman  of  stone,  her  face 
set  as  in  the  gray  pallor  of  death.  "  It's  nothing," 
she  gasped  feebly  as  Gretta  lifted  her  head  to  her 
breast ;  "  I  will  go  back  in  a  moment ;  "  but,  open- 
ing her  eyes  she  saw  Mr.  Conrad  gazing  down  upon 
her  with  the  old  pitying  look  that  had  marked  his 
face  in  his  boyhood. 

"  You  are  not  to  go  back,"  he  said,  with  his  air 
of  masterful  tenderness.  "Go  in  quietly,  Gretta, 
and  whisper  to  Mrs.  Maitland  that  the  heat  and 
excitement  are  too  much  for  Mrs.  Gray,  and  we  will 
take  her  home." 

B 


258  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  Shall  Margaret  come  with  us  ? "  said  Gretta. 

"  No,  she  is  to  sing  again,  and  she  will  stay  with 
Mrs.  Maitland.  I  will  come  back  for  them  both. 
There  are  plenty  of  ladies  to  preside." 

When  Gretta  stole  in  with  her  message  she 
found  Mrs.  Maitland,  who  had  never  done  such  a 
thing  in  her  life  before,  filling  with  ease  and  grace 
the  president's  chair,  and  the  programme  going  on 
as  if  nothing  had  occurred.  "Brave  old  soul," 
murmured  Theodore,  when  Gretta  came  back ;  "  she 
will  stand  by  her  colors  every  time." 

Dr.  Moore,  from  the  distant  seat,  had  noticed 
the  change  and  movement  on  the  platform.  Tuck- 
ing the  little  mother's  arm  in  his,  he  drew  her 
gently  out  at  the  door  and  round  the  corner  to  the 
pastor's  study,  and  unseen,  there  crept  after  him 
the  tall,  pale  man  whose  eyes  had  darkened  with 
fierce  anger  and  hate  as  he  saw  the  woman's  face. 

"  Wait  a  moment  for  me  here,"  said  Harold, 
placing  her  on  a  bench  in  the  vestibule.  "  I  want 
to  run  upstairs  ;  I  fear  some  one  is  ill ;  it  will  only 
be  a  moment." 

But  in  that  moment  the  baize-covered  doors  had 
swung  noiselessly  open,  and  in  the  dim  light,  the 
poor  trembling  old  woman  stood  face  to  face  with 
the  one  human  being  whose  hate  she  had  reason 
to  fear.  He  sprang  toward  her  with  a  curse  that 
was  more  like  the  snarl  of  an  angry  dog  than  like  a 
human  sound.  She  saw  the  face,  the  lifted  hand, 
and  the  shock  and  the  terror  startled  her  long- 
numbed  faculties  to  action,  and  wakened  the  long 
slumbering  memories  and  fears.  With  a  cry  of 
"  Ted !  Ted  !  Help  me,  Ted !  "  she  sprang  toward 


KATHARINE   GRAY  259 

the  staircase,  escaping  the  blow  that  fell  heavily 
upon  the  bench  where  she  sat.  The  cry  to  Theo- 
dore, like  a  voice  from  the  dead,  reached  his  ears. 
With  one  swift  bound  he  cleared  the  steps,  and 
gathering  her  in  one  strong  arm,  grasped  her  assail- 
ant with  the  other,  and  pressed  him  writhing  and 
panting  back  against  the  wall.  For  one  instant  he 
held  them  there,  and  the  lion  that  could  have  torn 
the  man  to  pieces  battled  with  the  child  that  could 
have  hid  his  head  upon  the  wrinkled  neck  of  this 
old  woman  to  sob  out  his  grief  and  be  comforted. 
She  trembled  and  clung  to  him  with  all  her 
strength. 

"  Don't  let  him  get  me,"  she  muttered,  beside 
herself  with  fear. 

"  No,  no,  little  mother,  he  shall  not  hurt  you. 
I  am  here.  I  will  take  care  of  you.  Don't  you 
know  Ted,  your  own  little  Ted  ?  Where  have  you 
kept  her  hidden  from  me  all  these  years?"  he 
asked,  turning  fiercely  upon  the  man,  who,  cowed 
and  panting  for  breath,  made  no  effort  to  resist  or 
to  escape. 

"  He  did  not  hide  her,"  said  Dr.  Moore,  coming 
swiftly  down  the  stairs.  "  I  left  her  here  a  moment 
ago.  This  is  my  little  patient  that  I  brought  home 
to-night.  Can  you  not  understand  ?  " 

"  Yours,  your  patient,  Harold  ?  She  is  mine — my 
mother ;  and  she  knows  me  too ;  and  this  man  is 
her  enemy  and  mine." 

A  rustle  on  the  stairs  above  and  Gretta  appeared. 
"  Is  the  carriage  ready  ?  "  she  called  ;  "  auntie  is  able 
to  go  home  now." 

"  Wait  a  minute,  Harold,"  said  Theodore.    "Here, 


260  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

little  mother,  stay  with  our  good  doctor,"  and  he 
loosened  her  arms  tenderly.  "  You  take  her  home 
to  Wildholm,  doctor.  We  must  not  let  either  of 
the  sick  ones  have  more  excitement.  Come,  the 
carriage  is  waiting."  Never  loosing  the  hand  from 
Robert's  collar  he  led  his  mother  gently  to  the 
street.  Mrs.  Maitland's  carriage  was  waiting. 
"Take  the  ladies  and  the  doctor  home,  Thomas, 
and  come  back  for  Miss  Graham  and  myself.  We 
shall  be  here  when  the  meeting  is  over."  Then  he 
hurried  Robert  around  the  corner  so  quickly  that 
he  did  not  see  the  white-faced  woman  who  came 
out  with  Harold  and  took  her  seat  in  the  carriage, 
and  was  driven  away  with  Gretta  and  Mrs.  Burke. 

All  the  way  the  doctor  was  very  silent,  but  he 
kept  a  finger  of  one  hand  on  Mrs.  Gray's  pulse,  and 
another  on  that  of  Mrs.  Burke.  Gretta  tried  to 
throw  her  arms  protectingly  about  her  aunt,  and 
was  touched  to  see  that  she  did  not  want  to  be  held, 
but  tried  to  draw  the  girl  down  to  her  breast  and 
held  her  tight  as  if  she  feared  she  might  never  have 
her  again-.  In  the  darkness  she  felt  for  the  girl's 
face  and  covered  the  brow  and  cheeks  with  tender, 
passionate  kisses.  Whatever  the  blow  that  had 
come  to  her,  it  had  unlocked  the  fountain's  tender- 
ness, so  long  sealed  up  apparently  beneath  her  re- 
serve and  pride. 

As  for  the  Widow  Burke,  she  sat  as  one  dazed 
and  dumb.  The  doctor  had  not  recovered  from  his 
astonishment,  but  if  Theodore  was  right  and  she  had 
recognized  him,  he  had  new  evidence  that  his  own 
theory  that  the  heart  held  the  key  to  the  brain  was 
true.  His  own  heart  rejoiced  for  Theodore  and  his 


KATHARINE   GRAY  261 

mother,  but  to  him  the  old  creature  was  still  a 
"case,"  and  the  wonder  of  the  scientist  had  hardly 
yet  yielded  to  the  interest  of  the  friend.  If  she 
knew  him  she  would  know  others,  so  he  reasoned. 
She  evidently  had  known  her  assailant,  and  as  if  to 
prove  he  was  right  she  suddenly  reached  over  to 
the  corner  where  Mrs.  Gray  sat  with  Gretta's  head 
on  her  arm,  and  said,  "  Are  ye  going  back  wid  the 
carriage  for  my  Ted,  lady  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Dr.  Moore,  for  he  noticed  that 
Mrs.  Gray  seemed  to  shrink  from  her  companion. 

"  Whilst  he's  coming,  darlin',  ye  must  let  me  get 
you  to  shlape.  Ye're  needin'  rest,  God  help  ye,  if 
that  thafe  of  a  man  has  been  shtalin'  yer  childer  all 
the  toime.  No  wonder  yer  hair  is  white,  dear,  and 
ye  won't  lave  her  out  of  your  arms.  Whin  I  gets 
me  Ted,  I'll  rock  him  and  hould  him  too,  like  he 
was  a  little  boy." 

Dr.  Moore  quieted  her,  and  bade  her  not  to  dis- 
turb the  lady,  for  he  thought  the  excited  brain  wan- 
dered, and  Katharine  answered  never  a  single  word. 
She  had  known  nothing  of  the  encounter  and  could 
only  hope  that  Robert  had  not  seen  her  or  known 
her  if  he  had  seen. 

Theodore  once  in  the  street  relaxed  his  hold  and 
taking  the  stranger  by  the  arm,  they  turned  away 
from  the  church.  Robert  walked  tottering,  whether 
from  feebleness  or  drink  Theodore  could  not  tell, 
but  he  took  him  into  the  restaurant  of  the  nearest 
hotel,  and  ordering  a  good  supper  was  surprised  to 
find  the  man  ate  like  one  who  had  fasted  long.  His 
clothing  was  worn  but  decent ;  and  his  face  showed 
the  ravages  of  illness  or  of  drink. 


262  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

Until  they  were  at  the  table  not  a  word  was  said. 
Then  Ted,  whose  hot  anger  had  given  place  to  the 
problem  as  to  how  to  protect  his  mother  and  Mrs. 
Gray,  said  quietly,  "  Once  you  invaded  her  home, 
and  she  humiliated  you."  A  great  oath  burst  from 
the  man's  lips.  "  You  deserved  all  you  got  and 
more,  and  you  shall  not  harm  her  now,  for  I  can 
protect  her." 

The  man  half  rose  and  angrily  pushed  back  his 
plate.  "  Will  you  not  take  something  more  ? " 
asked  Theodore. 

Robert  sneered,  "  Yes,  if  you  please." 

"  What  shall  I  order  ?  " 

"Whisky." 

"  Not  a  drop  from  me,"  said  Theodore.  "  Not 
one  drop." 

"  You  need  not  be  so  mean  as  that  to  me ;  I  never 
did  you  any  harm." 

"  Your  conduct  cost  me  my  mother,  and  cost  her 
her  reason,  and  we  have  only  just  found  each  other 
after  being  each  eighteen  years  alone." 

"  And  I  would  have  killed  her  if  I  had  got  my 
hands  at  her  throat,"  he  broke  in,  with  a  curse  that 
could  only  have  had  its  origin  in  a  long-nursed  hate. 

"  You  will  never  attempt  to  touch  her  again," 
said  Ted,  his  eyes  gleaming  like  cold  steel.  The 
man  sneered.  "And,  more  than  that,  you  will 
keep  away  from  your  wife.  Understand,  I  suffered 
too  much  in  protecting  her  from  you  when  I  was  a 
boy  to  have  you  trouble  her  again.  They  must  be 
absolutely  left  alone  by  you,  now  and  forever." 

"  Who  made  you  their  guardian,  I  would  like  to 
know  ? " 


KATHARINE   GRAY  263 

Ted  waited  a  moment,  and  then  said  reverently, 
"God." 

The  old  man  laughed  a  sneering  laugh.  "  I  have 
never  lost  trace  of  her,  the  beggar.  Living  in 
luxury  instead  of  clinging  as  a  wife  should  to  her 
husband.  Leaving  me  to  wander  over  the  earth 
with  no  one  to  do  the  first  thing  for  me  sick  or 
well.  Even  my  own  child  deserted  me ;  but  I'll  be 
even  with  them  yet.  I  don't  want  the  women. 
Heaven  knows  I  have  no  use  for  them  ;  but  I  want 
money,  and  I'm  not  going  to  see  them  live  in 
luxury  and  not  be  able  to  get  a  drop  of  whisky 
when  I  need  it.  I  am  a  sick  man,"  he  added  in  a 
whining  tone,  "  I  ought  to  have  medical  advice  and 
care." 

"  I  think  that  is  true,"  said  Theodore ;  "  but  it 
will  not  come  through  tormenting  women  and  girls. 
That  part  of  your  life  has  come  to  an  end." 

"  Whose  business  is  it  but  my  own  ? " 

"Mine,"  answered  Ted,  his  eyes  blazing. 

"Look  here,"  said  Robert,  "I'm  no  beggar.  All 
I  want  is  an  advance  on  my  own  property.  When 
my  old  governor  sent  me  abroad  I  was  so  temper- 
ate and  so  honest,  don't  you  see,  that  after  a  while 
I  persuaded  him  to  let  me  have  a  little  money  to 
develop  the  business  here  and  there.  And  when  I 
got  it  I  enlarged  after  my  own  ideas.  I  made  the 
most  of  it  fly,  I  assure  you  ;  but  I  did  make  some 
investments,  just  enough  to  keep  the  supplies 
coming.  When  my  daughter  left  me  to  go  to  the 
dogs,  I  went,  but  I  wandered  back  over  the  old 
ground  last  year,  and  these  investments  that  we 
thought  a  dead  loss,  some  of  them  had  begun  to 


264  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

pay.  I  sold  some  land  and  the  proceeds  I  ate  up 
and  drank  up ;  but  I  tell  you  there  is  more  and 
better  for  those  that  can  afford  to  wait.  There  is 
land  in  California  and  in  Australia  that  cost  a  song 
and  cannot  be  sold  now,  but  that  means  a  fortune 
by-and-by." 

And  Theodore  did  not  believe  a  word  of  it ;  but 
he  gave  him  money  for  a  lodging,  told  him  he 
would  devise  some  plan  to  keep  him  from  want,  on 
one  condition,  that  he  go  away  and  never  trouble 
any  of  his  family  more.  They  parted  to  lunch  .at 
the  same  place  on  the  next  day,  and  Theodore  did 
not  notice  as  he  took  his  way  back  to  the  church 
that  this  shuffling,  bent  figure  was  following  close 
behind. 

The  meeting  had  been  long.  The  audience  was 
standing.  The  last  hymn  was  being  sung.  The 
shivering  old  man  edged  his  way  between  the 
people  till  he  stood  where  he  could  see  and  hear. 
Mrs.  Maitland  stood  in  the  foreground,  stately  and 
noble,  her  face  glowing  with  this  unwonted  experi- 
ence of  a  great  multitude  of  women  pledged  each 
to  do  her  share  of  Christ's  unfinished  work,  each 
eager  to  unite  service  and  worship,  and  all  standing 
together,  daring  to  think  and  to  speak  and  to  act  for 
the  uplifting  of  the  children  of  men.  It  made  her 
feel  like  saying,  "  Lord,  now  lettest  thou  thy  servant 
depart."  Close  beside  her,  her  glorious  voice  lead- 
ing all  the  rest,  was  her  young  friend,  Margaret  Gra- 
ham, whose  life  was  already  a  power  for  untold  good  ; 
and  down  there,  gazing  up  to  them,  as  from  hades 
one  might  gaze  at  the  beauty  and  listen  to  the 
music  of  paradise,  was  this  weak  and  wicked  wreck 


KATHARINE   GRAY  265 

of  what  God  meant  should  be  a  man.  And  Mar- 
garet went  on  singing,  singing  up  into  heaven, 
when  suddenly  her  eyes  fell  upon  that  sneering, 
wasted  face.  She  bowed  her  head  with  the  rest 
at  the  benediction.  The  crowd  was  great.  There 
were  many  pressing  for  greetings  and  hand  grasps. 
How  should  she  get  to  him  or  he  to  her  ?  How 
could  she  bear  to  make  him  known  to  those 
who  would  see  her  greet  the  stranger  ?  All  the 
time,  though  she  did  not  look,  she  felt  him  coming 
closer.  The  look  she  had  seen  on  his  face  said  he 
would  claim  her  before  all  the  world,  and  she,  like 
a  fascinated  bird  drawn  nearer  and  nearer  every 
moment  to  the  serpent's  fangs,  heard  congratula- 
tions, felt  friendly  hand  grasps,  said  her  little 
pleasant  words  to  one  and  another,  coming  closer 
and  closer  to  this  sneering,  leering  creature  all  the 
time.  Suddenly  a  tall  form  stood  between  them, 
and  Theodore  said,  abruptly,  "  I  am  very  sorry,  Miss 
Graham,  but  Mrs.  Maitland  begs  you  will  not  wait 
one  minute  longer.  Indeed,  I  fear  she  is  already 
feeling  the  effect  of  the  excitement  and  the  chill  of 
the  night  air.  This  way ;  allow  me."  And  he 
wrapped  her  mantle  about  her,  keeping  his  broad 
figure  between  her  and  the  crowd,  and  hastily  taking 
her  through  the  rear  door,  in  another  minute  they 
were  gone. 

As  the  carriage  turned  the  corner,  Theodore 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Robert  Gray's  angry  and  dis- 
appointed face  as  he  emerged  from  the  church,  and 
thought  he  had  probably  returned  hoping  for  one 
more  glance  at  his  wife  and  child.  Robert  asked  a 
coachman  waiting  on  the  pavement  whose  coach 


266  THE  TEMPTATION 

it  was  that  had  just  passed,  and  was  told  it  was  "the 
Maitland  carriage  from  Wildholm."  "And  where 
is  Wildholm  ?  "  "  Out  on  the  boundary  ;  any  one 
will  tell  you,"  answered  the  man  ;  "and  the  street 
car  will  take  you  within  a  hundred  yards." 

When  they  reached  home,  Katharine  was  re- 
ported as  resting  quietly  in  the  care  of  Gretta  and 
Debby,  who,  contradictory  as  it  seemed,  was  never 
quite  so  happy  as  when  somebody  had  a  pain,  for 
then  she  had  a  chance  to  nurse  and  coddle  and  pet. 
Harold  hoped  a  night's  rest  would  relieve  the  attack, 
whose  cause,  if  it  were  fatigue  only,  seemed  to  his 
practised  medical  eye  wholly  inadequate  to  the 
effect. 

He  had  not  succeeded  in  inducing  the  "little 
mother"  to  go  to  rest,  for  unfortunately  he  had 
said  on  the  way  up  that  Ted  would  come  and  take 
her  to  his  home.  And  when  Ted  came,  she  lifted 
her  tired  eyes,  and  said,  as  he  bent  over  her,  "  Ah, 
yere  at  yer  old  ways,  Teddy  ;  I  never  could  cure  ye 
of  runnin'  out  at  night."  And  when  they  were  in 
the  carriage,  she  laid  her  head  down  on  his  shoulder, 
and  in  one  minute  was  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

pONSIDERATE  of  Katharine's  condition  and 
\j  watchful  lest  some  new  excitement  overtake 
Mrs.  Burke,  Harold  had  foreborne  all  allusion  in 
the  presence  of  Mrs.  Gray  and  Gretta  to  the  out- 
break that  had  occurred  in  the  vestibule  of  the 
church.  Theodore,  with  equal  caution,  had  said 
nothing  of  it  to  Mrs.  Maitland  or  Margaret  as  they 
drove  back  to  Wildholm.  The  next  day  found 
Katharine  better,  and  Mrs.  Maitland  none  the  worse 
for  her  exertions.  Indeed,  but  for  her  solicitude 
for  Mrs.  Gray,  she  would  have  felt  rather  trium- 
phant over  her  unexpected  opportunity  to  bear 
testimony  to  her  sympathy  with  the  objects  of  the 
convention,  and  with  the  effort  of  women  to  meet 
their  full  share  of  responsibility  for  the  welfare  of 
the  world.  « 

Overwhelmed  by  the  encounter  in  the  church 
and  anxious  for  solitude  that  she  might  face  her 
new  trial,  Margaret  fled  to  her  room  without  the 
usual  bedroom  talk  with  Gretta.  She  threw  her- 
self on  her  knees  by  the  window,  and  as  the  car- 
riage drove  away  with  Theodore  and  his  mother, 
she  saw  Harold's  face  lifted  eagerly  in  the  moon- 
light and  knew  that  he  had  waited  for  a  word  and 
smile  from  her,  and  the  sight  of  his  disappointed 
face  made  all  the  sorer  the  struggle  of  the  bitter 
night. 

267 


268  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

Too  sleepless  and  excited  in  the  morning  to 
remain  quiet  in  bed  she  came  down  much  earlier 
than  usual  and  went  to  her  usual  rounds,  looking  in 
upon  one  or  two  of  the  sick  ones  in  the  west  wing 
and  wandering  thence  away  through  the  garden 
paths,  lingering  a  few  moments  at  the  spot  where 
Harold  had  told  her  of  his  love  and  won  her  to 
share  his  life.  As  if  the  thoughts  that  came  there 
were  those  from  which  she  could  not  too  speedily 
hasten,  she  rose  and  walked  forward  rapidly  as  if 
trying  to  escape  from  herself,  never  pausing  until 
she  had  reached  the  gate  that  opened  to  the  road. 

A  hundred  yards  away  ran  the  street  car  line 
from  the  city,  and  as  she  saw  the  yellow  cars  go 
rapidly  by,  a  great  impulse  seized  her  to  take  one 
and  go  somewhere,  anywhere,  to  escape  the  trouble 
that  she  knew  was  near  at  hand.  While  she  lin- 
gered, a  car  stopped.  A  man  descended,  hesitated 
a  moment,  and  then  obeying  the  conductor's  hand 
that  pointed  toward  the  gate  of  Wildholm,  came 
staggering  forward  with  a  shambling  gait  that 
might  mean  feebleness  or  worse.  At  the  first 
glance  she  knew  him  and,  obeying  a  sudden 
impulse,  she  turned  and  walked  hurriedly  toward 
the  house.  But  at  her  second  thought  she  paused. 
Why  should  she  bring  to  'the  friends,  and  worse, 
to  the  servants  of  the  home  that  had  sheltered  her, 
a  knowledge  of  this  man  ?  He  was  her  own  dis- 
grace and  sorrow  ;  surely  she  ought  to  bear  it  alone. 
And,  though  she  would  have  given  worlds  to  meet 
him  if  she  must,  with  Harold,  or  Mrs.  Maitland,  to 
prove  to  him  that  she  had  friends,  she  yet  turned 
back.  Seated  on  a  bench  near  the  gate,  half  hidden 


KATHARINE   GRAY  269 

by  a  clump  of  shrubbery  from  the  road,  she  waited 
for  the  coming  of  the  man  who  had  been  the  burden 


and  blight  of  her  life.  He  shuffled  forward 
and  overwhelmed  as  she  was  that  his  coming  meant 
death  to  all  her  hopes  of  happiness,  she  yet  noted 
pitifully  the  signs  of  feebleness  and  age.  He 
started  at  sight  of  her,  but  anger  seemed  at  once 
to  oversweep  all  pleasure  or  surprise. 

"  So  you  lie  in  wait  for  me  here  ?  "  he  said. 
"  You  turned  your  back  on  me  last  night  when  I 
appeared  among  your  fine  friends,  and  now  you 
stand  between  them  and  me  again.  I  am  going  on 
up  to  that  house  yonder.  I'll  show  them  who  you 
belong  to,"  he  added,  quivering  with  drunken  rage. 
"  You  will  find  I  can  give  you  trouble  enough." 

For  a  moment  she  felt  powerless,  but  only  for  a 
moment.  "  You  will  only  make  trouble  for  yourself 
in  that  way,"  she  answered,  quietly.  "  Come  and 
sit  down  here  by  me,"  she  added,  moving  to  make 
room  for  him.  "Unless  I  go  to  the  house  with 
you,  there  is  no  one  to  receive  you  there.  The 
servants  would  not  admit  you,  and  no  one  would 
listen  to  your  story." 

"  I  would  shout  it  under  the  windows,"  he  said, 
gesticulating  wildly.  "  I  would  tell  them  how  you 
have  broken  your  promise." 

"  Then  they  will  think  you  intoxicated  or  a 
lunatic.  You  are  reeling  already,"  she  said.  "Stop 
here  and  I  will  listen  to  you.  I  am  sorry  to  see 
you  looking  so  ill.  Go  there  and  I  shall  not  go 
with  you,  but  I  will  go  away  while  you  are  gone, 
where  you  will  not  find  me.  What  is  it  that  you 
want  of  me  ?  " 


270  THK  TEMPTATION  OF 

For  a  moment  her  strong  and  steady  will  held 
him  from  his  purpose,  and  he  began  to  grow 
maudlin  and  to  weep  with  sudden  self-pity.  "  You 
promised  to  come  back  if  I  needed  you,  and  I  am 
old  and  very  poor  and  very  sick.  I  want  a  home 
and  you  in  it  to  take  care  of  me.  I  want  to  stay 
with  you.  Haven't  I  slaved  all  my  life  to  take  care 
of  my  dear  family  ?"  he  said,  growing  tragic  ;  "  am 
I  a  man  to  be  deserted  ?  " 

Something  like  the  shadow  of  a  smile  played  for 
a  moment  over  her  look  of  well-controlled  disgust, 
but  she  answered  calmly :  "  You  are  not  deserted,  you 
shall  be  cared  for ;  I  will  keep  every  promise,  but 
not  here.  Go  away,  go  back  to  Chicago,  anywhere 
but  here,  and  I  will  see  that  you  do  not  lack  for 
care." 

He  drew  himself  nearer  to  her  side,  tears  still 
standing  in  his  watery  eyes,  and  put  out  his  arms 
as  if  to  embrace  her,  but  she  drew  herself  away. 
"  Just  as  you  please,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  grieved 
affection.  "  You  are  my  long-lost  darling,  and  now 
to  find  you  so  beautiful,  so  kind.  I  would  like  to 
go  to  Chicago,"  he  said,  wiping  his  eyes,  "  the 
scene  of  my  happy  boyhood,  the  last  resting-place 
of  my  beloved  parents  ;  but,  alas " 

"  You  are  going  to  say  you  have  no  money,"  she 
said,  cutting  short  his  sentimental  outburst.  "  I 
will  furnish  you  with  just  enough  to  take  you  to 
Chicago  and  supply  your  needs  on  the  way.  Stop," 
as  he  would  have  thrown  himself  upon  his  knees 
before  her ;  "  I  know  you  will  go,  and  go  at  once, 
for  I  shall  send  some  money  on  to  Mrs.  -  — ,  your 
old  nurse,  who  lives  in  the  house  you  know  so  well, 


KATHARINE   GRAY  271 

with  instructions  to  give  you  her  best  room  and 
care  for  you  and  to  give  you  the  money  if  you 
apply  for  it  not  later  than  three  days  from  this. 
That  will  enable  you  to  go  to-night.  If  you  are 
not  there  on  the  third  day,  then  the  funds  are  to  be 
returned  at  once  to  me." 

There  was  still  more  protest,  still  more  declara- 
tion that  he  could  not  leave  without  her,  still  more 
complaint  that  was  hard  to  answer  or  to  listen  to, 
but  it  ended  in  his  waiting  for  her  while  she  went 
to  the  house,  returning  with  the  funds  for  a  journey 
which  he  promised  to  take  that  night.  And  while 
she  was  gone  his  muddled  brain  recalled  that  he 
had  come  to  Wildholm  as  much  or  more  to  seek 
Katharine  as  to  find  Miss  Graham.  Fortunately 
for  the  former  there  was  enough  of  native  cunning 
left  him  to  decide  that  he  would  not  risk  the  unex- 
pected good  luck  that  had  come  to  him  by  any 
further  effort  to-day.  It  would  be  soon  enough  to 
come  back  upon  his  wife  when  he  had  gotten  out 
of  Margaret  all  he  could.  Yes,  yes,  he  would  go  ; 
with  money  awaiting  him  there  he  would  go ;  but 
there  was  no  law  that  would  forbid  his  coming  back 
again  some  day  and  renewing  his  acquaintance  with 
Katharine  Gray.  For  the  present  he  took  the 
money,  and  five  minutes  later  took  the  car  that 
bore  him  once  more  out  of  Margaret's  sight. 

Some  hours  later,  having  visited  a  barber,  a 
clothing  store,  and  in  a  measure  recovered  from  the 
effect  of  his  cheap  morning  dram,  he  sauntered  with 
an  air  of  easy  insolence  into  the  restaurant  where 
he  had  promised  to  meet  Theodore,  who  was  already 
there  looking  over  the  morning  papers.  He  nodded 


372  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

to  the  waiter  to  bring  the  meal  already  ordered,  and 
noticing  the  change  for  the  better  in  his  guest's 
appearance,  added  to  his  "Good  morning,  Mr.  Gray, 
I  hope  you  found  a  comfortable  rest  last  night." 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  other.  "  I  went  back  to 
the  church  and  heard  the  last  of  the  music,  though 
church-going  hasn't  been  very  much  in  my  line  of 
late." 

"  I  presume  not,"  said  Theodore,  as  he  led  the 
way  to  their  table  in  a  quiet  alcove. 

"  I  do  not  mind  telling  you,"  said  the  man,  with 
an  air  half-insolent  and  half -conciliatory,  "that  I 
went  back  for  a  purpose.  I  read  in  the  paper  that 
Mrs.  Katharine  Gray  was  to  preside  at  that  meet- 
ing. I  presume  they  hadn't  heard  /  was  in  town, 
or  they  would  have  made  it  Mrs.  Robert  Gray." 

Theodore  watched  him  closely.  "  You  saw  her  ? " 
he  asked  quietly. 

"  No,  I  didn't  get  in  until  the  singing,  and  I  con- 
fess, though  my  eyes  are  not  of  the  strongest,  that 
I  saw  only  the  singer.  A  white-haired  lady  was  in 
the  chair.  But  it  doesn't  matter  that  I  did  not 
meet  her.  It  was  hardly  a  place  for  a  conjugal 
interview  after  an  absence  of  so  many  years.  I 
shall  find  her  at  home  at  Wildholm,  no  doubt." 

"  At  Wildholm  ?  "  said  Theodore,  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Yes,  I  have  naturally  traced  her  movements, 
and  I  knew  last  night  that  she  went  to  Wildholm. 
I  saw  her  daughter  drive  away  and  I  learned  it  was 
the  Wildholm  carriage,  and  you  may  be  very  sure 
that  where  the  daughter  is,  the  mother  can  be 
found.  Besides,  I  looked  for  her  in  that  old  par- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  273 

sonage  in  Massachusetts,  where  her  father  used  to 
live,  and  they  told  me  that  she  was  living  at  Wild- 
holm  with  Mrs.  Maitland.  I  intend  some  day  to 
seek  her  there." 

Theodore  rested  his  arms  upon  the  table  and  bent 
forward  until  his  face  came  close  to  that  of  his 
neighbor.  "  You  will  never  find  her  there,"  he 
said,  between  his  teeth. 

"  And  what  shall  hinder  me  ? "  said  the  man, 
insolently. 

"  I  will  hinder  you.  Look  here,  Mr.  Gray,  we  are 
here  for  business.  You  told  me  last  night  that  you 
wanted  money.  You  told  me  you  had  still  some 
property.  I  have  a  proposition  to  make  to  you. 
Nothing  but  misery  can  come  to  Mrs.  Gray  by  your 
coming  back  into  her  life.  Furthermore,  she  will  not 
have  you  in  it,  after  your  brutal  treatment  of  her ; 
and  further  still,  you  have  no  right  in  it.  You  have 
no  claim  upon  her  whatever.  More  than  that,  I  will 
see  that  she  is  guarded  against  you  day  and  night. 
But  it  is  true,  as  you  have  told  me,  that  you  are  old 
and  ill.  It  is  true  that  you  must  suffer  if  you  have 
not  proper  care  and  comforts.  Make  over  to  me  in 
trust  for  your  wife  and  your  daughter  your  claim  to 
the  property  you  say  still  remains  in  California  and 
in  Australia — property  that  must  be  worthless  to 
you  and  probably  would  be  worthless  to  anybody— 
and  I  will  supply  you  with  an  annuity  that,  paid 
monthly  as  long  as  you  live,  shall  be  sufficient  for 
your  support.  Stop!"  as  the  man  was  about  to 
speak,  "  there  is  one  condition,  that  you  never  again 
make  an  attempt  to  see  Mrs.  Gray,  and  that  you 
make  your  home  away  from  Washington." 

s 


274  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

The  man  began  to  bluster,  but  was  sharply  inter- 
rupted. 

"We  needn't  waste  one  word  in  talk.  You  have 
your  choice.  Take  this  offer  or  your  chance  of 
ending  your  days  in  suffering  and  want.  I  do  not 
imagine  that  this  property  of  which  you  speak  has 
any  value,  but  if  it  has,  it  should  not  surely  be 
squandered  like  the  rest." 

"  What  will  you  do  with  it  ? "  asked  the  man, 
with  a  sneer. 

"  See  that  it  is  taken  care  of  for  the  benefit  of 
your  wife  and  child." 

"  My  child  ;  ah,  she  can  take  care  of  herself  and 
me  too ;  and  I  mean  that  she  shall  do  it.  You  are 
very  kind  not  to  demand  that  I  shall  never  endeavor 
to  see  my  child.  Why  do  you  not  include  her  in 
your  conditions  ? " 

"  Simply  because  I  can  prevent  your  seeing  her 
without  conditions." 

There  followed  a  great  deal  of  bluster  and  defi- 
ance and  irritation  ;  but  it  ended,  as  Theodore  knew 
it  would.  The  bird  in  the  hand  must  not  be 
allowed  to  escape.  Robert  went  with  him  to  the 
shabby  lodgings,  for  which  his  own  money  had 
paid,  and  from  the  old  traveling  bag  there  were 
taken  and  given  over  to  him  whatever  papers  he 
possessed.  A  deed  of  sale  for  all  right  and  claim 
to  the  properties,  of  which  the  papers  contained 
descriptions,  was  executed,  and  the  first  instalment 
of  the  annuity  paid,  the  ticket  bought,  and  the  man 
on  the  way  to  Chicago  without  ever  once  having 
been  allowed  to  escape  from  Theodore's  sight. 

As  the  train  moved  out,  the  stern  face  relaxed 


KATHARINE   GRAY  275 

and  he  gave  an  audible  sigh  of  relief,  when  passing 
from  the  door  of  the  station  he  came  face  to  face 
with  Margaret  Graham.  She  seemed  embarrassed, 
and  declined  to  let  him  take  her  home  ;  so  after  put- 
ting her  on  the  Boundary  line  car,  he  turned  his 
face  homeward,  eager  to  give  to  the  clinging  little 
mother  all  that  remained  of  this  his  first  day  after 
the  separation  of  many  years.  Henceforth,  what- 
ever might  come  into  his  life,  the  little,  white,  silent 
shadow  of  the  brave,  rollicking,  hard-working  woman 
who  had  taught  him  to  speak  the  truth  and  not  to 
be  afraid  to  work,  was  to  have  all  he  could  do  to 
atone  for  the  desolate  years. 

It  was  a  very  sad  heart  that  Margaret  bore  back 
to  the  house  that  morning.  Neither  Mrs.  Maitland 
nor  Mrs.  Gray  came  down  to  breakfast,  and  Gretta 
and  her  friend  were  too  close  and  dear  not  to  allow 
each  to  the  other  the  privilege  of  silence. 

"  You  went  over  to  the  west  wing  early,  I  hear," 
said  Gretta.  "  You  should  have  stayed  in  bed  as  I 
did  and  taken  a  good  rest  after  such  an  excitement 
as  last  night.  I  find  I  must  take  better  care  of  my 
dear  ones,"  she  added.  "Auntie  seems  quite  pros- 
trated to-day.  I  believe  the  dear  grandmamma  has 
borne  it  best  of  all.  I  wonder  what  it  is,"  she  went 
on,  noticing  that  Margaret  did  not  care  to  talk, 
"that  makes  all  such  public  occasions  a  strain  upon 
the  bodies  and  nerves  of  women.  The  nobler  and 
more  sensitive  the  woman  the  more  it  seems  to  wear 
upon  her  strength  and  to  rob  her  of  vitality.  I 
have  sometimes  wondered  if  the  opponents  of  all 
such  work  for  women  have  not  one  of  their  strong- 
est arguments  there." 


276  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  But  I  do  not  see  why  it  is  harder  than  teaching 
or  the  strain  of  social  life." 

"  Yet  you  must  admit  that  it  is.  I  have  listened 
so  eagerly  when  the  grand  women,  who  almost  all 
of  them  are  close  friends  of  grandmamma,  talk  with 
her,  hoping  there  would  be  one  who  would  not  say 
she  stayed  in  public  life  and  work  from  sense  of 
duty,  yet  longed  for  the  day  when  she  need  not, 
when  she  could  pass  it  on  and  feel  that  her  task 
was  done.  It  seems  to  me  they  each  and  all  take 
too  much.  Surely  God  does  not  mean  to  lift  the 
burdens  of  the  race  by  piling  them  all  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  a  few  devoted  ones." 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Margaret,  kissing  Gretta,  as 
arm  and  arm  they  went  up  to  seek  Mrs.  Maitland. 
"  It  seems  to  me  that  women  are,  and  perhaps  it  is 
all  right  that  they  should  be,  the  scapegoats  of  the 
world.  I  would  like  to  talk  that  whole  matter  over 
with  you  one  of  these  days,  Gretta." 

"  Yes,  dearie,  and  let  us  see  if  we  cannot  find  a 
better  way,  if  we  cannot  be  of  use  and  yet  save 
our  souls  alive." 

The  next  few  days  Harold  made  Margaret  atone 
for  having  escaped  him  on  the  night  of  the  meeting 
by  claiming  a  great  deal  of  her  time.  It  was  a  most 
joyful  day  for  him  until  there  fell  upon  it  a  strange 
shadow,  that  seemed  to  creep  up  from  the  very  depths 
of  Margaret's  heart.  He  felt  it  and  yet  refused  to 
feel  it  until  at  evening,  in  the  same  sheltered  path 
where  she  had  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  and  let  the 
light  of  her  love  shine  into  his  life,  she  quietly 
withdrew  it  again,  with  no  explanation  except  that 
it  was  right,  and  she  had  been  wrong  to  admit  that 


KATHARINE   GRAY  277 

she  had  ever  loved  him.  In  desperation  he  pleaded 
and  talked,  until,  as  the  night  came  down  and  the 
stars  came  out,  he  put  his  arm  about  her  and  said, 
"  Come  with  me  to  Mrs.  Maitland.  She  is  like  a 
mother  to  both  of  us.  I  will  do  anything  she  says, 
except,"  he  added  under  his  breath,  "to  give  you 
up  altogether."  And,  with  a  gentle  hand,  he  drew 
her  into  the  old  lady's  presence,  and  placing  the 
cushions  for  her,  he  led  her  to  Gretta's  place  at 
Mrs.  Maitland's  feet,  and  placed  himself  beside  her 
on  the  step. 

"  We  have  come  to  tell  you  all  about  it,  mother," 
he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  cheerfulness.  "  I  had 
been  telling  Margaret  that  the  new  house  is  ready, 
but  that  I  have  given  up  my  intention  of  making 
bachelor  quarters  of  it ;  and  I  have  placed  there 
my  faithful  man-servant,  and  some  good  women  to 
take  care  of  it,  every  one  of  them  people  whom  I 
have  cured  or  helped,  and  to  whom  I  fancy  I  have 
given  back  their  lives,  and  who  are  ready  to  serve 
me  and  mine  upon  their  knees,  if  I  so  wish.  I 
have  got  my  little  old  patient  to  keep  as  a  patron 
saint  to  smile  at  us,  and  say  a  thousand  prayers  a 
day  for  us,  a  prayer  on  every  bead,  as  she  slips 
them  continually  through  her  fingers.  I  have  told 
Conrad  that  I  still  have  a  room  for  him,  though  it  is 
not  going  to  be  bachelor  quarters  as  we  expected, 
and  that  I  want  him  to  be  sure  to  be  home  and  to 
stand  beside  me  with  Gretta  on  Easter  eve. 

"  You  see,  Mrs.  Maitland,  what  an  arbitrary 
fellow  I  am.  I  am  arranging  it  all  my  own  way. 
When  we  come  together  for  the  evening  worship 
here  on  Easter  eve  I  want  to  bring  that  dear  old 


378  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

white-haired  chaplain,  who  gave  the  best  part  of  his 
life  to  the  sick  and  wounded  in  the  army,  and  who 
is  now  the  comfort  of  all  the  poor  souls  in  our  city 
mission.  He  is  the  sort  of  clergyman  who  is  after 
our  own  hearts,  and  like  his  Master  full  of  grace 
and  truth.  And  I  want  just  there,  after  the  even- 
ing prayers  are  over,  to  be  married  to  this  precious 
little  woman  here,  and  take  her  away  to  my  home. 
And  I  have  been  telling  her  all  about  it,  when  she 
tries  to  break  my  heart  by  saying  that  it  is  impos- 
sible that  we  should  ever  marry.  She  withdraws, 
not  her  love, — I  do  not  believe  that  is  possible, — but 
she  withdraws  the  promise  made  to  me  that  other 
evening  when  we  lingered  so  long  out  there  under 
the  trees." 

"  What  reason  can  she  give  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Mait- 
land,  laying  her  cool  hand  on  Margaret's  burning 
cheek. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  ask  a  reason,  if  she  does  not 
offer  one." 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  Margaret,  "  he  has  every 
right,  and  yet  I  cannot  tell.  The  truth  is  that  I 
did  very  wrong,  Mrs.  Maitland.  I — I  let  myself  be 
tempted.  I  forgot  my  promise." 

"  Your  promise !  certainly  not  your  promise  to 
another  ? "  said  Harold,  fixing  upon  her  a  startled 
gaze. 

She  hesitated,  waited,  and  hid  her  face  in  Mrs. 
Maitland's  lap. 

"  Certainly  you  cannot  mean  that  ?  "  said  the  old 
lady,  softly  caressing  the  brown  hair. 

There  was  no  answer,  but  the  bowed  head  moved 
in  assent. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  279 

"  Am  I  to  understand,"  said  the  man,  rising, 
a  gray  pallor  sweeping  swiftly  over  his  face, 
"  that  a  promise  to  some  other  man  is  the  obstacle 
in  our  way,  and  that  you  gave  yourself  to  me  with- 
out once  giving  me  a  hint  of  such  a  fact  ?  " 

"Gently,  gently,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  "there 
must  be  some  mistake." 

"  There  can  be  no  mistake,"  he  answered,  sternly. 
"Either  it  is  the  truth,  or  it  is  not." 

"  Surely,  Margaret,  there  must  be  some  explana- 
tion. You  would  not  plunge  him  into  a  darkness 
like  this,  and  leave  him  there,  alone." 

The  pause  was  broken  only  by  the  girl's  low 
sobs. 

"  Poor  child,  poor  little  girl  !  "  said  Harold,  gen- 
tly, "  she  is  excited  and  overstrained,  and  we  are 
troubling  her,  and  after  all  it  doesn't  matter. 
Nothing  shall  separate  us  in  earth  or  heaven.  Let 
us  give  her  a  little  time,  and  she  surely  will  ex- 
plain," aqpl  his  hand  swept  gently  down  over  her 
tear-stained  face,  as. he  turned  away. 

"  No,  no,  do  not  let  him  go  ! " 

"  Harold,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  "  come  back.  She 
will  explain." 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot,"  moaned  the  girl. 

"  And  I  am  to  understand  there  is  no  explana- 
tion then,"  he  said,  coldly,  as  if  all  the  warmth  of 
his  tenderness  had  suddenly  been  chilled  to  ice. 

There  was  no  answer.  "  Speak,"  whispered  Mrs. 
Maitland.  "  You  are  wrecking  your  whole  life's 
peace." 

"  I  cannot,"  answered  the  girl. 

"  Good  night,  Mrs.  Maitland.     Good  night,  Miss 


280  THE  TEMPTATION 

Graham,"  and  in  another  moment  they  heard  the 
clang  of  the  gate  and  the  ever-lessening  sound  of 
footsteps  as  he  went  forth  into  the  dark. 

They  sat  in  silence.  Old  Debbie  came  to  help 
her  mistress  to  her  rpom. 

"  Good-night,  dear  child,"  said  the  old  lady  softly 
to  Margaret.  "  You  said  you  must  go  back  to 
Castleton  in  the  morning.  If  you  want  to  see  me 
at  any  hour  in  the  night  come  to  my  room  ;  I  shall 
be  awake." 

Margaret  and  Gretta  occupied  adjoining  rooms. 
Long  after  Gretta  was  asleep,  Margaret  sat  by  the 
window.  More  than  once  she  left  the  room  and 
crept  softly  down  the  corridor,  and  waited  by  Mrs. 
Maitland's  door.  Then  her  resolution  failed  her, 
and  she  crept  back  again.  And  every  time  she 
went,  Katharine,  sitting  in  the  arm-chair  behind 
the  curtain  that  swept  across  the  door  of  her  own 
chamber,  saw  her  go  and  saw  her  come.  Once, 
the  third  time,  she  had  made  up  her  mind,  she 
would  surely  have  gone  within,  but  Katharine's 
hand  swept  back  the  curtain,  and  she  said,  rather 
coldly,  "  You  are  restless,  Miss  Graham.  Can  I  do 
anything  for  you  ?  I  stayed  with  Mrs.  Maitland 
until  I  think  she  dropped  asleep.  She  is  not  well 
to-night,  and  ought  not  to  be  disturbed." 

"  You  are  right,"  the  girl  said  softly,  "  she  shall 
not  be  disturbed." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN  a  few  weeks  came  again  the  Easter  holiday. 
Harold  waited  one  week.  Then  the  young 
girls,  taking  their  morning  stroll  in  the  grounds  of 
Castleton,  saw  the  stalwart  man  striding  straight 
toward  the  door. 

He  sent  in  his  card  to  the  lady  in  charge,  "  I 
hope  I  am  not  trespassing,"  he  said,  as  Madame 
Crozier  came  to  the  parlor.  "  I  am  specially 
anxious  to  see  Miss  Graham,  and  to  see  her,  if 
possible,  at  once.  I  hope  this  is  not  an  hour  when 
I  shall  find  her  engaged." 

Madame  Crozier  looked  for  one  moment  into  his 
earnest  flfce  and,  seeing  the  anxiety  there,  an- 
swered with  unfeigned  regret,  "  I  am  so  sorry  that 
you  should  have  come  too  late,  Dr.  Moore,  but  Miss 
Graham  is  already  gone." 

"  Gone  !  where  ? " 

"  Since  last  she  came  back  from  Washington  she 
has  seemed  ill,  and  really  unequal  to  the  conduct 
of  her  work.  As  some  of  her  pupils  go  home  early 
for  the  Easter  vacation,  I  advised  her  to  leave 
the  remaining  lessons  to  her  assistant,  and  to 
lengthen  the  vacation  by  taking  another  week  at 
this  end.  She  consented,  rather  reluctantly  I 
thought,  and  left  yesterday  for  the  West." 

"  Do  you  know  her  destination  ?  " 

"  She  said  she  should  be  traveling  from  place  to 

28! 


282  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

place,  but  she  gave  me  this,  giving  a  teachers' 
agency  in  New  York,  from  which  point  she  said 
her  letters  would  be  forwarded  from  time  to  time, 
as  she  might  write  for  them.  I  hope  she  is  going 
to  travel,  for  she  greatly  needs  rest  and  change. 
Do  you  know  anything  of  her  future  plans,  Dr. 
Moore  ? " 

"Certainly  not,"  he  answered,  quietly.  "Is  she 
not  to  return  to  the  school  ?  " 

"  I  supposed  so  until  she  was  gone ;  but  a  letter 
came  this  morning  from  New  York,  in  which  she 
said,  that  since  circumstances  might  arise  that 
would  prevent  her  return,  and  her  duty  might  call 
her  in  other  directions,  she  did  not  consider  it 
right  for  me  to  hold  the  position  open  for  her,  and 
she  would  therefore  resign  it,  trusting  to  secure 
another,  should  it  be  necessary  for  her  to  do  so. 
Of  course,  she  can  have  no  difficulty  in  doing  that, 
for  I  say  to  you  very  frankly,  Dr.  Moore,  that  her 
voice,  her  training,  and  her  methods  are  all  excep- 
tional. She  could  easily  make  her  fortune  upon 
the  operatic  stage." 

"  I  think  however,  that  her  inclinations,  and 
possibly  her  principles,  would  be  averse  to  such  a 
life,"  he  answered. 

"  Yes,"  said  Madame  Crozier,  deprecatingly ; 
"  she  is  a  little  morbid  about  those  things.  She 
fancies  that  her  voice  is  a  sacred  charge,  given  her 
to  be  used  for  the  benefit  of  the  world.  I,  for  my 
part,  do  not  see  why  she  should  not  use  it  in  ele- 
vating those  classes  who  would  hear  her  elsewhere, 
as  well  as  to  use  it  in  drawing  rooms  or  places 
where  the  proceeds  are  to  go  for  charity ;  but  of 


KATHARINE  GRAY  283 

course,  I  have  no  right  to  attempt  to  modify  her 
views  concerning  purely  personal  things." 

"  And  the  New  York  letter  gave  no  permanent 
address  ? " 

"  No,  she  wrote  from  this  same  agency,  where  she 
was  evidently  arranging  to  have  her  mail  received, 
and  said  that  she  was  leaving  New  York  almost 
immediately  for  the  West.  You  will  not  leave  us, 
Dr.  Moore?"  as  he  rose  to  go.  "This  is  one  of 
our  lecture  afternoons,  and  Mrs.  Gray,  from  Wild- 
holm,  whose  niece  was  a  favorite  and  prominent 
pupil  here,  is  coming  to  address  our  girls.  We 
would  be  glad  to  have  you  remain ;  indeed,  we 
would  be  only  too  grateful  if  you  could  be  per- 
suaded to  say  a  few  words  to  them." 

"  Thanks,  many,"  said  Dr.  Moore.  "  In  such 
able  handsjpas  yours  and  Mrs.  Gray's,  they  will 
have  little  need  of  anything  that  I  could  offer. 
She  will  say  only  such  words  as  will  do  them  good." 

"  It  is  wonderful  how  she  succeeds  in  inspiring 
them,"  Madame  Crozier  went  on.  "  No  one  comes 
to  us  who  arouses  in  them  such  enthusiasm  for 
various  lines  of  helpful  work.  Why,  she  has  the 
white  ribbon  on  a  whole  group  of  them  already, 
and  they  are  all  divided  up  into  little  bands  and 
circles,  working  for  one  cause  or  another,  and 
doing  every  time  whatever  Mrs.  Gray  suggests." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  thoughtfully,  "there  is 
nothing  truer  than  that  the  young  womanhood  of 
the  country  can  be  led  into  every  possible  good,  if 
only  their  leaders  are  true  and  kind  and  wise,  as  I 
am  sure  they  are  here,"  he  added,  smiling  and  bow- 
ing low  over  her  outstretched  hand.  Then  he  took 


284  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

his  way  back  through  the  grounds  to  the  little  sta- 
tion to  wait  for  the  next  up-train. 

Fortunately  the  gentle  woman  did  not  see  the 
sneer  that  came  to  his  countenance  as  he  crossed 
the  threshold,  a  sneer  that  deepened  and  deep- 
ened as  he  strode  through  the  wood,  setting  his 
face  like  ice  in  the  expression  of  stern  scorn  that 
really  half  startled  Mrs.  Gray,  as  she  met  him 
walking  up  from  the  station  to  the  school. 

"  I  congratulate  the  young  ladies  on  having  the 
benefit  of  your  wisdom  this  afternoon,"  he  said, 
lifting  his  hat  as  he  made  way  for  her  to  pass. 

"Not  great  wisdom,"  she  answered  ;  "but  they 
are  so  eager  for  even  the  crumbs  that  I  can  give 
them,  that  it  makes  me  wish  that  some  one  would 
feed  them  who  can  really  offer  bread  ;  but  I  feel, 
on  the  other  hand,  that  if  any  one  of  us  knows  one 
thing  that  the  others  do  not  know,  we  are  bound  to 
tell  it  in  times  like  these." 

"Ah,  well,"  he  answered,  lightly,  "bread  or  a 
stone,  one  doubts  sometimes  if  it  matters  much. 
A  good  many  of  them  do  not  know  the  difference, 
and  a  good  many  of  them  can  draw  as  much  nutri, 
ment  for  brain  and  soul  out  of  the  one  as  they 
would  be  capable  of  taking  out  of  the  other." 

She  looked  at  him  sharply.  Was  he  reading  her 
and  chiding  her  for  preaching  what  she  did  not 
practise,  and  teaching  what  she  did  not  know  ? 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought,"  he  went  on,  bit- 
terly, "  that  much  of  the  slimy  sinuosity  and  wrig- 
gling inconsistency  of  youthful  character,  feminine 
as  well  as  masculine,  is  largely  due  to  the  fact  that 
we  older  people  keep  on  hand  for  the  young  a  plentiful 


KATHARINE   GRAY  285 

and  persistent  diet  of  serpents  and  of  stones.  You  see 
that  is  contrary  to  Scripture,  and  I  am  coming  more 
and  more  to  believe  that  the  Bible  is  a  true  book. 
Of  tourse,  I  do  not  mean  to  insinuate  that  you  are 
not  bearing  to  them  bread  enough  and  fish  enough 
to  feed  the  multitude,  and  to  gather  up  baskets  of 
fragments  for  the  next  company  of  young  women 
that  you  will  meet.  Au  revoir,"  he  added,  lightly, 
not  waiting  to  give  her  time  to  reply. 

Without  a  word  Katharine  stood  and  gazed  after 
him  as  he  moved  away.  What  did  he  mean  ?  She 
had  not  answered  the  question  to  her  satisfaction, 
when  she  reached  the  door  and  met  Madame  Cro- 
zier,  who  had  seen  her  coming  up  the  walk,  and  who 
said  to  her  at  once,  "  I  was  so  sorry  for  Dr.  Moore. 
He  came  to  see  Miss  Graham,  and  was  so  disap- 
pointed that  she  was  gone." 

And  then  Katharine  felt  that  she  had  no  need  to 
question  longer.  She  knew  what  had  put  the  bit- 
terness into  his  voice  and  made  his  face  like  ice. 

Harold  went  to  New  York,  but  he  did  not  find 
her.  At  the  Teachers'  Bureau  the  madame  in 
charge  received  him  politely.  "  Yes,  Miss  Graham's 
address  was  there.  They  had  arranged  to  forward 
the  lady's  mail."  "  But  where  ?  "  "  To  such  points 
as  she  might  direct,  from  time  to  time,  as  she  sent 
for  it,  and  as  yet  she  had  not  sent.  They  would 
not  be  at  liberty  to  give  these  addresses,  but  they 
could  forward  anything." 

And  letters  went  again  and  again,  from  Harold, 
from  Mrs.  Maitland  and  Gretta,  from  Madame  Cro- 
zier,  and  many  more.  And  the  spring  passed  into 
summer,  and  the  autumn  leaves  came,  and  the  school 


286  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

opened  again  and  Madame  Crozier  received  word, 
much  to  her  regret,  that  Miss  Graham  would  not 
be  able  to  return.  So  far  as  all  the  other  friends 
were  concerned,  she  might  as  well  be  dead. 

With  all  her  girlish  trials,  this  blow  was  Gretta's 
first  great  grief.  To  Dr.  Moore  no  one  ever 
mentioned  Margaret's  name.  Gretta  and  Mrs. 
Maitland  talked  lovingly  and  tenderly  of  her  to- 
gether, Gretta  always  insisting  that  her  secret  must 
have  been  some  great  sorrow,  but  could  not  have 
been,  by  any  possibility,  a  sin.  As  for  Mrs.  Mait- 
land, when  she  saw  Dr.  Moore  going  about  doing 
his  duty  with  the  white,  hard  face  that  had  become 
habitual,  she  found  it  hard  to  forgive  the  girl. 
"  Nothing  can  excuse  a  woman  for  carrying  se- 
crets," she  said  one  day  with  great  decision  to 
Gretta,  in  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Gray ;  "  they  are 
invariably  unsafe.  It  is  of  no  use,  of  course,  for 
any  human  being  to  try  to  hide  a  sin,  or  a  wrong 
done  to  other  human  beings,  for  soon  or  late  every 
hidden  thing  shall  be  revealed,  and  every  secret 
thing  made  known." 

Katharine's  head  bent  lower  over  her  embroid- 
ery. 

"  And  as  for  what  women  suffer  through  their 
morbid  sense  of  duty  or  their  shrinking  from  the 
notoriety  that  makes  them  live  years  falsely,  be- 
cause they  are  carrying  and  hiding  some  other  per- 
son's sin,  I  am  coming  to  feel  that  even  that  is  a  mis- 
take. In  my  own  work  among  the  suffering  and  the 
poor  I  have  seen  so  many  cases  where  women  en- 
dured intemperance,  brutality,  and  hardness  of  every 
sort,  simply  because  men  trusted  to  this  something  in 


KATHARINE  GRAY  287 

a  woman  that  would  practise  concealment.  Those 
are  usually  the  cases  where  justice,  and  not  mercy, 
is  the  reformatory  agent,  though  justice  is  contrary 
to  all  the  old  theories  and  ideas.  I  was  brought  up 
among  people  who  considered  that  a  woman  dis- 
graced and  degraded  herself  if  she  admitted  that  her 
husband  beat  her  in  his  drunken  rage.  And  there 
were  plenty  of  women  who,  in  such  a  case,  would  have 
blamed  the  woman  for  not  being  able  to  "get  along" 
with  the  man  whose  vices  they  thought  her  bound 
to  hide.  I  suspect  this  poor  child  has  sacrificed 
the  happiness  of  her  life  and  the  happiness  of  this 
noble  man  to  some  such  wretch  as  that." 

"  What  leads  you  to  think  especially  in  that 
direction  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gray,  lifting  her  eyes. 

"  Her  interest  in  the  temperance  question,  to 
begin  with,  and  her  constant  urging,  in  all  her 
talks  to  the  young  girls,  that  they  be  prayerful,  and 
patient,  and  silent  as  to  what  they  have  to  endure. 
The  tendency  of  her  teaching  was  to  make  them 
feel  that  whatever  man  put  upon  them  to  bear 
they  were  to  take  as  a  dispensation  sent  of  God. 
The  theory  is  all  wrong,  and  my  advice  to  you, 
Gretta,  is  this:  never,  never  carry  about  in  your 
heart  or  in  your  life  anything  that  you  have  to 
hide." 

Gretta  looked  up  smiling,  and  caught  Katharine's 
eyes  fixed  upon  her  with  a  gaze  full  of  anguish  and 
entreaty,  such  as  Theodore  Conrad  had  seen  on 
that  far-back  festive  night.  Something  in  the  look 
checked  the  assent  to  Mrs.  Maitland's  words,  and 
she  said,  gently,  "  But  would  it  not  all  be  different 
if  one  loved  and  forgave  the  sinner  ?  Isn't  that 


288  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

more  like  the  Heavenly  Father  ? "  she  added,  bend- 
ing over  Mrs.  Maitland's  chair.  "He  says  he  puts 
our  iniquities  behind  his  back.  That  means  where 
he  could  not  see  them ;  that  he  removes  them,  as 
far  as  the  east  is  from  the  west ;  that  he  wipes 
them  out  of  his  remembrance.  We  ought  to  love 
Margaret  only  the  more  if  she  is  doing  that." 

"  I  have  never  taught  you  any  severe  doctrines, 
Gretta ;  but  I  think  that  even  God  does  all  that 
after  the  sinner  repents." 

"  But,  you  dear,  precious  saint,"  said  Gretta,  "isn't 
he  heaping  love  and  kindness  all  the  time  upon  us 
before  we  do  repent,  and  assuring  us  that  that  is 
what  he  will  do  if  we  do  repent  ?  And  isn't  that 
the  only  course  that  we  could  take  ? "  and  glancing 
again  toward  Katharine,  she  saw  that  gentle  tears 
had  softened  the  strained  look  of  terror  in  her  eyes. 
With  a  sudden  rush  of  tenderness  and  pity  for  she 
knew  not  what,  she  kissed  Mrs.  Maitland,  and  mov- 
ing over  to  where  Mrs.  Gray  sat,  put  both  her  arms 
around  her,  and  held  the  weeping  face  close  to  her 
true  young  heart.  A  minute  more  and  Katharine 
had  slipped  away. 

"  Your  auntie  is  growing  nervous,  I  see,"  said 
Mrs.  Maitland.  "  She  ought  to  have  a  change." 

"  Yes,  grandmamma ;  she  has  been  working  a 
little  too  hard,  I  fancy,  and  I  find  her  often  looking 
very  sad.  So  much  of  this  outside  work  is  too 
heavy  a  strain  upon  her.  She  never  seemed  very 
fond  of  Margaret,  and  yet  she  takes  her  going  very 
much  to  heart." 

"And  so  do  we  all,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Mait- 
land, sadly. 


KATHARINE  GRAY  389 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  but  then  we  comfort  each  other 
by  just  loving  her  on  and  on,  and  trusting  her  and 
believing  that  she  will  come  back,  and  that  every- 
thing will  be  well.  Mr.  Conrad  believes  that  too, 
and  some  day  we  are  going  on  a  crusade  together 
to  see  if 'we  can  find  her." 

"  That  would  hardly  be  a  proper  proceeding," 
said  Mrs.  Maitland,  playfully,  glad  to  escape  for  a 
moment  from  the  gloomy  subject.  "  Modern  so- 
ciety doesn't  admit  of  a  knight  and  ladye  faire  set- 
ting forth,  even  with  so  good  an  object  as  to  find 
and  restore  the  ladye  love  of  another  knightly 
heart.  Two  of  you  would  be  too  few,  and  I  hardly 
know  where  you  would  get  an  army  of  retainers  to 
go  on  such  a  quest.  I,  alas,  am  too  old  for  a 
chaperon,  but  two  of  you  could  surely  not  go 
alone." 

"  There  wouldn't  be  two,"  said  Gretta,  laughing 
softly  ;  and  standing  behind  Mrs.  Maitland's  chair, 
she  put  her  hands  over  the  old  lady's  closed  eyes, 
and  laid  her  curly  head  down  softly  against  the  white 
locks. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Gretta  ?  " 

"There  wouldn't  be  two,  grandmamma." 

"  Is  that  a  riddle  for  me  to  guess  ? " 

"  Yes,  guess  it  in  the  dark,  and  I  will  give  you 
a  kiss  for  your  reward." 

"  Give  me  the  kiss  then,  for  I  know  the  answer," 
she  said,  softly  :  "Is  it  that  you  two  would  be  one?" 
and  the  hands  dropped  swiftly,  and  in  a  minute  Gretta 
was  on  her  knees  by  the  old  lady's  side,  and  the 
arms  were  around  her,  and  her  blushing  face  was 
hidden  against  the  kind  old  heart. 

T 


THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  He  didn't  want  me  to  tell  you,  grandmamma, 
because  he  said  he  wanted  to  ask  you  for  me  him- 
self ;  but  when  you  said  I  must  not  have  a  secret, 
I  knew  I  must  not  dare  wait  another  little  min- 
ute," and  the  girl's  rosy  face  overflowed  with  mer- 
riment. 

"And  how  long  have  you  been  carrying  this 
secret  ? " 

Again  Gretta  laughed.  "  Since,  well,  since  long 
enough  for  Tom  to  unsaddle  the  gray  pony." 

"  What !  was  it  this  morning  in  your  ride  by  the 
river  ?  " 

"  Yes,  or  rather  it  was  after  we  were  home.  We 
rode  through  the  myrtle  path,  and  stopped  under 
that  beautiful  old  tree  where  Margaret  told  me 
Harold  said  he  loved  her  that  beautiful  summer 
night.  And  we  spoke  about  that,  and  I  told  Mr. 
Conrad, — I  am  always  going  to  call  him  Theodore 
now,  for  you  know,  grandmamma,  the  name  means 
a  gift  of  God, — I  told  him  I  was  going  on  a  cru- 
sade of  my  own  to  find  Margaret,  and  bring  her 
back  to  Harold,  and  that  I  wouldn't  have  Harold 
go  with  me  because  he  was  too  grim  and  hard,  and 
didn't  trust  and  forgive  her  beforehand,  just  as  he 
ought  to  do.  And  he  said  he  had  long  intended 
himself  to  go  and  find  her  for  Harold.  And  then 
I  laughed  and  told  him  he  could  go  over  one  half 
of  the  world,  and  I  could  go  the  other,  and  we 
would  see  which  would  find  her  first  If  I  found 
her  I  should  bring  her  to  him,  and  if  he  found  her 
he  should  bring  her  to  me,  and  we  would  clear  up 
all  the  mysteries,  and  take  her  to  Harold  together. 
And  I  asked  him  when  he  was  willing  to  start  ? 


KATHARINE   GRAY  2QI 

and  he  said,  'Day  after  to-morrow.'  And  then, 
grandmamma,  he  turned  his  horse  until  he  looked 
straight  down  into  my  face,  and  asked  me  if  I 
didn't  think  I  would  be  unhappy  searching  the 
wide  world  all  alone  ?  And  I  told  him  '  Yes,  but 
we  must  not  mind  being  unhappy,  if  only  we  were 
being  good.'  And  then,  grandmamma,  he  looked 
all  around,  up  at  the  sky  and  through  the  branches 
of  the  trees,  and  down  among  the  flowers,  as  earn- 
estly as  if  he  thought  he  could  find  Margaret  hid- 
den somewhere  there.  And  I  was  just  going  to 
give  my  pony  a  little  lash  and  come  on,  when  he 
looked  back  into  my  face,  and  said  : 

"  '  It  is  a  noble  crusade,  Gretta,  and  I  am  going, 
but  I  am  not  going  alone.  Unless  you  refuse  to 
allow  me,  I  am  going  your  way.' >: 

And  the  girl  laughed  again  from  sheer  merriment. 
"  It  wasn't  very  sentimental,  was  it,  grandmamma  ? 
It  wasn't  a  bit  like  love-making.  He  just  said,  '  I 
am  going  your  way,  always  and  forever  your  way.'  " 

"And  what  did  you  say,  my  child." 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  tell,  grandmamma,"  and  the 
old  face  and  the  young  one  smiled  together,  and 
one  was  scarcely  merrier  than  the  other.  For  a 
moment  they  were  two  children  of  nearly  the  same 
age. 

"You  needn't  be  ashamed,  dear." 

"  I  think  I  ought  to,  for  I  always  thought  that 
when  anybody  made  love  to  me  it  must  be  in  the 
moonlight,  and  over  and  over  again  I  have  planned 
what  I  would  say  and  what  I  would  do,  if  ever  my 
true  love  came.  And  when  he  looked  at  me  and 
said,  *  I  am  going  your  way,'  I  just  gave  the  pony  a 


292  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

little  cut  and  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  said,  '  Come 
on.' ' 

"  And  I  am  coming  on,"  said  Theodore's  voice,  as 
he  stepped  from  the  window  opening  on  the  piazza. 

"  It  is  true,  dear  little  mother,"  he  said,  with 
a  strange,  tender  light  in  his  clear  eyes.  "We 
are  going  through  the  world  whenever  you  are 
ready  to  send  us  on  our  little  crusade,  to  seek  and 
rescue  and  help  Margaret  first,  and  then  as  many 
more  as  we  can.  I  believe  we  have  one  purpose, 
we  have  long  had  one  heart,  and  we  are  going  one 
way." 

"  Not  yet,  not  yet,"  said  the  old  lady,  as  she 
reached  her  trembling  hand  to  each  of  them.  She 
who  rarely  gave  way  to  any  outward  emotion  found 
her  lips  trembling  and  her  eyes  filling  with  tears. 
"  Not  yet,  you  would  not  take  her  away  from  me  ?  " 

"  Never,"  he  answered,  "so  long  as  you.  want  her, 
nor  so  long  as  you  have  need  of  her.  She  belongs 
to  you  still,  and,"  he  added,  bending  down  and 
touching  his  lips  with  reverence  to  her  forehead, 
"  I  belong  to  her,  and  so  of  course  I  belong  to  you 
also." 

"And  she  has  never  given  you  a  word  except 
'  Come  on  '  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  trying  to  escape 
from  the  emotion  that  overcame  her. 

"  She  could  not  have  given  me  a  better  word.  It 
is  like  a  challenge.  I  know  that  into  whatever  is 
true  and  noble  and  sweet  in  life  she  is  the  woman 
to  lead  me,  and  every  day  and  hour  I  shall  feel  her 
going  like  an  angel  before  me,  guiding  me  to  every- 
thing that  is  highest  and  best.  And  wherever  I 
am,  or  whatever  I  do,  I  shall  hear  her  saying  '  Come 


KATHARINE   GRAY  293 

on.'  You  see  that  is  going  even  farther  than  can 
be  expected  even  of  the  obedient  modern  husband. 
I  am  really  ready  to  follow." 

And  Katharine,  who  when  she  left  the  room  had 
passed  to  the  veranda  and  seated  herself  on  the 
bench  just  outside  the  window,  had  been  sitting 
there  like  one  outside  the  gate  of  paradise,  seeing 
the  joy  of  heaven.  She  had  seen  their  faces,  and 
held  spellbound  by  the  sight,  had  listened  to  every 
word. 

"  There  is  only  one  shadow  on  it  all,"  said  Mrs. 
Maitland,  trying  to  recover  from  the  emotion  that 
had  nearly  overswept  her  usual  calm  ;  "  it  will  be 
so  hard  for  Dr.  Moore  to  see  and  feel  your  joy." 

"  But  I  think  he  has  a  heart  big  enough  to  re- 
joice in  it.  He  has  long  known  that  I  loved 
Gretta.  He  told  me  one  night,  as  we  were  taking 
a  long  walk  by  the  river,  something  about  his  love 
for  Margaret,  and  many  things  about  his  early  life. 
Among  other  things  he  said  he  had  never  loved 
any  other  woman,  and  he  thought  the  thing  that 
kept  him  from  loving  was  a  romance  that  came  into 
his  life  when  he  was  a  little  lad.  You  see  we  men, 
when  we  get  together,  sometimes  talk  over  our  ex- 
periences as  if  we  were  girls.  I  had  a  romance  in 
my  boyhood  too,  and  I  told  him  my  tale,  and  he 
told  me  his." 

There  was  a  little  rustle  and  movement  on  the 
veranda  outside.  Katharine  had  moved  her  chair 
nearer  to  the  window. 

"  Harold  said  that  his  father  was  a  physician,  and 
had  found  a  country  practitioner's  life  a  hard  one, 
that  gave  him  little  leisure  and  less  money,  and  he 


29-1-  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

was  rather  inclined  to  check  his  son's  disposition, 
which  showed  itself  as  a  very  young  lad,  to  study 
medicine.  His  father  had  a  brother,  a  successful 
business  man  living  in  a  Western  city,  and  it  was 
rather  understood  between  the  two  men  that  Harold 
should  go  to  his  brother  at  the  close  of  his  school  life, 
and  be  brought  up  in  business.  His  mother  had 
died  in  his  infancy,  and  his  father  died  when  Harold 
was  about  twelve  years  of  age.  The  maiden  aunt 
arranged  for  him  to  go  to  his  uncle's  home.  He 
traveled  alone.  On  the  train  with  him  was  a  help- 
less man,  who  had  in  charge  a  dainty  little  girl 
scarce  out  of  babyhood  who  was  restless  and  fret- 
ful and  refused  to  be  comforted.  He  said  the  man 
put  the  child  on  the  seat  by  him,  and  the  little  thing 
went  to  sleep  and  he  played  with  it,  and  it  put  its 
hands  in  his  hair  and  pulled  his  curls,  and  alto- 
gether was  a  great  delight  to  him  and  evidently  a 
great  relief  to  the  man  who  had  her  in  charge, 
quite  to  the  journey's  end.  He  had  his  uncle's  ad- 
dress and  knew  his  uncle  had  intended  to  meet 
him,  but  so  reluctant  was  he  to  lose  sight  of  this 
little  being,  that  he  followed  the  man  who  took  her 
into  a  carriage,  and  seeing  him  standing  by  the 
door,  threw  a  dollar  down  on  the  pavement.  He 
said  he  had  a  hole  made  in  it,  and  that  for  years  he 
wore  it  on  a  string  on  his  neck,  although  he  was  so 
angry  that  before  he  picked  it  up  he  tried  to  stamp 
it  into  the  pavement  under  his  feet. 

"The  door  of  the  carriage  closed,  and  in  his 
rage  and  bewilderment  and  unwillingness  to  be  left 
behind,  he  sprang  up  on  the  trunk-rack  at  the  rear 
and  rode  until  they  turned  in  at  a  gate  and  ap- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  295 

preached  a  beautiful  house.  He  slipped  behind  the 
gate-post.  He  knew  that  the  man  left  the  child 
there,  because  he  waited  until  he  saw  the  carriage 
and  the  man  driving  away. 

"  Then  he  looked  in  his  little  pocket-book  for  his 
uncle's  address,  and  arrived  in  due  time,  to  find 
them  very  much  exercised  because  he  had  failed  to 
meet  them  at  the  station.  After  this  there  fol- 
lowed his  school  life,  interspersed  with  such  par- 
tial training  in  business  as  could  be  given  to  a 
boy  while  in  the  public  school,  and  as  he  grew 
older  the  business  claimed  him  altogether." 

"  But  was  the  desire  to  study  medicine  so  strong 
that  it  overmastered  the  business  career  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Maitland.  "  He  seems  to  be  a  born  physi- 
cian." 

"  Yes,  evidently  that  was  the  case.  His  uncle 
had  many  children,  and  at  his  death  there  was 
nothing  left  for  the  boy  but  to  carve  out  his  own 
future  for  himself.  He  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  but 
the  bent  toward  his  present  profession  was  so  strong 
that,  in  one  way  or  another,  he  fought  his  way  to 
college.  There  is  where  I  found  him.  We  were 
classmates,  and  we  have  been  chums  ever  since. 
He  made  a  grand  record,  but  there  was  nothing  he 
did  not  do  meantime  to  pay  his  expenses.  Proud 
then  as  he  is  now,  he  would  not  have  help,  for  I 
would  gladly  have  divided  with  him  everything  I 
had.  But  he  pinched  and  coached  and  wrote  for 
the  periodicals,  and  taught  in  the  vacations,  and 
tutored  in  and  out  of  the  university,  and  got 
scholarships  and  fellowships  and  came  out  ahead, 
and  has  always  kept  ahead. 


296  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

"  But  he  told  me  that  in  all  those  years  when  he 
ran  errands  in  a  store,  or  stood  behind  the  counter, 
or  in  the  after-life  of  student  struggle,  he  always 
called  that  little  baby-girl  his  sweetheart.  And  he 
vowed  a  vow  to  himself  that  when  he  grew  up,  and 
had  become  very  rich  and  great,  he  would  go  back 
and  marry  her,  and  give  her  that  very  dollar  that 
the  man  had  thrown  to  him.  And  he  said  he  be- 
lieved that  the  dream  that  stayed  in  his  mind  of 
what  the  girl  would  be,  and  how  she  would  look, 
and  what  she  would  say  to  him,  held  him  back  from 
failure  in  many  an  evil  day.  He  often  found  him- 
self asking  this  unknown  idol  what  she  would  have 
him  do,  and  he  could  trace  all  through  his  early 
life  the  influence  of  what  he  called  'his  little  love.' 

"  I  asked  him  if  he  knew  what  became  of  her, 
and  he  said  '  No.'  For  a  year  or  two  he  used  to 
hang  about  the  house,  and  see  the  little  thing  sent 
out  with  dainty  frills  and  lace  about  her  in  the  little 
wagon  pushed  by  a  maid  in  a  white  cap.  He  used 
to  stop  and  look  at  her,  and  place  flowers  in  the 
carriage,  and  in  his  heart  he  always  called  her  his 
little  girl.  At  one  time  he  determined  to  go  to  the 
business  house  in  which  the  man  who  had  the  child 
was  engaged,  and  ask  him  for  a  position.  He  fan- 
cied that,  as  he  had  read  sometimes  happened  to 
deserving  clerks,  he  would  be  invited  to  the  house 
for  Sunday  dinner,  and  little  by  little  he  would  be- 
come acquainted  with  the  lady  of  his  heart.  But 
he  was  retarded  from  this  attempt  by  learning  that 
the  man  was  old,  and  was  not  engaged  actively  in 
the  business  which  bore  his  name.  Then  his  uncle 
sent  him  away  to  school  for  a  time,  and  when  he 


KATHARINE  GRAY  297 

came  back  the  house  had  been  sold  and  the  family 
had  moved  away,  and  from  that  time  to  this,  until 
he  saw  Margaret,  he  says  he  has  never  loved  any 
one,  girl  or  woman." 

"  Perhaps  he  will  find  that  early  love  yet  and 
marry  her,  and  thus  his  sad  heart  will  be  healed," 
said  Mrs.  Maitland,  who  dearly  loved  a  romance. 

"  But  what  would  become  of  Margaret  then  ?  " 
asked  Gretta,  quickly. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Theodore,  "the  myth  must  re- 
main a  myth.  Margaret  is  a  living  reality,  and  she 
belongs  to  Moore." 

"  But  I  thought  you  said  you  had  a  romance  of 
your  own,"  said  Gretta.  "  Was  that  about  a  girl  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  was  about  a  girl,"  he  said,  playfully. 

"  Was  she  beautiful  ?  " 

"  Most  beautiful  to  me.  I  hardly  know  which  I 
adored  the  more,  the  girl  or  her  mother." 

"Was  her  mother  beautiful  too  ? " 

"  Yes.  My  mother  was  a  Catholic,  and  I  had 
been  reared  to  love  all  the  representations  of  Mary, 
and  to  think  of  her  as  the  ideal  mother  and  ideal 
woman,  and  I  transferred  all  my  adoration  to  the 
mother  of  my  sweetheart." 

"  How  long  did  you  love  her  ?  " 

"All  my  life,"  he  said.  "I  have  been  faithful 
to  her  all  my  life." 

"You  mean  to  say  you  love  her  still  ? "  asked 
Gretta,  her  eyes  widening. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  love  her  still." 

The  smile  died  out  from  her  bright  lips  for  a 
minute,  but  there  was  no  mistaking  the  twinkling 
in  Theodore's  clear  blue  eyes. 


298  THE  TEMPTATION  OK 

"  If  you  love  her  still  then,  how  can  you  have 
another  love  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  other,"  he  said,  playfully.  "  I  think 
she  has  possession  of  my  heart.  I  have  only 
transferred  all  that  was  beautiful  and  loving  in  my 
thought  of  her  to  another,  who  seems  to  me  to  be 
just  what  my  early  love  would  have  been  if  she  had 
grown  up." 

"  And  did  you  ever  tell  her  that  you  loved  her  ?  " 
asked  Gretta. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  over  and  over  again,  a  hundred 
times  a  day." 

"  Well,  why  haven't  you  been  going  after  her  all 
these  years,"  said  Gretta,  her  face  showing  the 
coming  of  a  little  shadow  of  fear. 

"  I  would  if  she  had  only  told  me  to  <  Come  on.'  " 

"  What  did  she  tell  you  ?  " 

"  She  never  answered  me  once  a  single  word." 

"  And  you  told  her  over  and  over  that  you  loved 
her,  and  she  never  said  a  word  ?  She  must  have 
been  a  very  cruel  girl." 

"  No,  she  gave  me  other  signs  of  loving  me."  The 
pout  and  the  shadow  grew  more  decided.  "  She 
put  her  arms  tightly  around  my  neck  and  kissed 
me,  and  snuggled  her  face  close  to  mine." 

"Where  is  Aunt  Katharine?"  said  Gretta,  hur- 
riedly. "  I  am  neglecting  her  all  this  morning," 
and  she  started  to  go  out  of  the  room. 

"  Here  I  am,"  said  Katharine,  leaning  in  at  the 
window.  "  You  must  excuse  me,  but  I  have  been 
hearing  this  very  romantic  tale." 

"  But,  auntie,  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  man's  boast- 
ing in  such  a  very  bold  way  about  another  girl  ?  " 


KATHARINE   GRAY  299 

"  Have  you  asked  him,"  said  Katharine,  quietly, 
"  how  old  was  the  other  girl  ?  " 

"  Why,  no  indeed ;  of  course  she  was  old  enough — 
to  fall  in  love  with." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Theodore,  gravely.  "  Quite 
old  enough,  and  pretty  enough,  and  dear  and  sweet 
enough." 

"  But  how  old  ?  "  said  Gretta,  coming  back  and 
peering  down  into  his  face. 

"  Just  one  year  and  a  half,"  he  said,  rising  and 
drawing  her  close  to  his  breast,  "  and  if  she  could 
have  spoken,  I  am  sure  she  would  have  said  '  Come 
on.'  "  And  like  happy  children  they  went  away, 
leaving  these  two,  for  one  of  whom  the  light  of  a 
true  love  was  gone,  and  the  other  to  whom  it  never 
came,  to  look  into  each  other's  eyes,  hardly  know- 
ing whether  to  smile  or  weep. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

WITH  Mrs.  Maitland's  increasing  feebleness, 
Katharine  had  come  to  be  more  and  more 
essential  to  her  in  the  conduct  of  the  house,  in 
the  care  of  the  west  wing,  and  in  many  details  of 
her  affairs.  At  first  only  the  letters  that  made 
constant  appeals  to  her  well-known  philanthropic 
sympathies  were  passed  over  to  Katharine  for  con- 
sideration and  for  action,  after  the  decision  was 
reached  as  to  each  appeal.  But  it  came  to  be, 
after  a  while,  quite  a  matter  of  course  for  all  her 
mail  to  be  laid  upon  Katharine's  desk  in  the  little 
parlor  that  stood  between  Gretta's  room  and  her 
own.  On  leaving  Mrs.  Maitland,  as  she  retired  to 
her  room,  an  unusual  parcel  of  letters  awaited  her. 
As  was  her  custom,  those  that  she  knew  at  a 
glance  were  for  Mrs.  Maitland's  personal  perusal 
were  laid  aside  unopened.  Among  the  others,  ap- 
peals for  help,  household  accounts,  invitations,  and 
those  relating  to  business,  was  one  from  the  agency 
in  New  York,  which  she  knew  at  once  must  contain 
some  news  of  Margaret.  Without  hesitation  she 
opened  it.  Enclosed  was  a  letter  sealed  and  ad- 
dressed to  Mrs.  Maitland,  which  had  evidently  been 
forwarded  through  the  agency,  showing  the  writer's 
wish  that  no  postmark  should  betray  the  place 
whence  it  came. 

For  some  moments  she  sat  and  gazed  upon  it. 
300 


KATHARINE   GRAY  30 1 

It  was  a  thick  packet,  large  enough  to  be  half  a 
dozen  letters  returned,  large  enough  to  be  the  story 
of  a  life.  Who  knew  what  secrets  it  might  con- 
tain ? 

It  was  a  long  time  since  she  had  done  a  mean 
or  cowardly  thing.  Not  once,  so  far  as  she  could 
remember,  since  the  day  when  she  said  "  No,"  to 
Dr.  Moore,  in  reply  to  the  question  as  to  her 
knowledge  of  Mrs.  Burke.  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders.  It  was  the  circumstances  that  were  al- 
ways forcing  her  into  complications.  And,  while 
she  was  hesitating,  her  fingers  twisted  one  end  of 
the  envelope,  and  it  opened,  and  she  read : 

"  MY  DEAR  MRS.  MAITLAND  : 

"  When  I  sat  at  your  feet  on  that  day,  which  it 
seems  to  me  was  the  last  day  of  my  life,  you  re- 
member I  said  that  I  could  give  no  explanation  of 
my  action.  In  these  long  months  that  have  passed 
since,  I  have  been  convinced  that  I  was  wrong ; 
that  I  owed  it  to  you,  who  had  been  so  good  to  me, 
and  to  the  noble  man  who  had  taken  me  into  his 
heart,  the  fullest  explanation  that  it  was  possible 
for  me  to  give.  But  at  the  time  it  did  not  seem  to 
me  that  I  had  any  right  to  lay  bare  to  either  of  you 
the  mistakes  and  wickedness  of  another  life,  espe- 
cially when  I  felt  that  if  I  had  done  my  duty  by 
that  life,  the  errors  might  have  been  overcome  and 
the  sins  repented  and  forgiven.  In  my  exagger- 
ated sense  of  what  was  due  to  one,  I  failed  to  have 
a  true  conception  of  what  was  due  to  others. 

"  Since  coming  to  this  conviction  I  have  felt  that 
I  ought  to  write  you  fully  and  freely  of  all  that 


3O2  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

concerning  which  I  was  silent  as  I  sat  at  your  teet. 
I  have  not  done  so,  because  it  seemed  to  me  like 
asking  you  to  consider  me  less  wrong  than  I 
seemed ;  and  in  reality  my  errors  have  been,  as  you 
will  see  by  the  following  letter,  greater  than  my 
ingratitude  toward  both  you  and  Harold  would  lead 
you  to  believe. 

"  Again,  I  felt  that  your  love  for  me  would  lead 
you  to  persuade  me  to  reconsider  my  decision,  even 
after  you  knew  all,  and  to  reconsider  would  only  be 
adding  sin  to  sin.  But  now  that  I  know  this  letter 
will  not  give  you  any  means  of  tracing  me,  now 
that  I  have  entered  upon  my  duty,  and  am,  as  far 
as  possible,  undoing  the  errors  of  the  past,  I  feel 
that  I  must  relieve  the  anxiety  and  doubt  lingering 
in  both  your  minds,  as  to  whether  I  claimed  to  love 
Harold  Moore  when  a  promise  bound  me  to  some 
other  life. 

"Now  let  me,  dear  Mrs.  Maitland,  as  if  I  were 
sitting  there  at  your  feet",  tell  you  what  I  ought  to 
have  told  you  then,  and  then  try  to  forgive  me  for 
all  that  I  have  made  you  bear. 

"  I  am,  although  you  never  knew  it,  the  daughter 
of  a  man  who  has  wrecked  his  life  by  intemper- 
ance. I  never  knew  my  mother,  and  thought  that 
she  was  dead,  until  my  father,  in  a  fit  of  drunken 
anger,  told  me  that  she  had  deserted  me  when  I 
was  a  baby,  and  left  me  to  the  care  of  an  old  ser- 
vant, from  whom  he  had  rescued  me  through  a 
man  he  had  employed  to  watch  this  nurse.  He 
told  me  that  she  was  escaping  with  me  on  a  train, 
when  an  accident  deprived  her  of  consciousness, 
and  the  man  whom  he  had  sent  to  watch  and  to  re- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  303 

capture  me,  took  charge  of  me  and  returned  me  to 
the  home  of  my  grandfather.  He  told  me  that  my 
mother  was  living,  was  utterly  unworthy  of  my 
love  or  thought,  and  that  all  my  own  unworthiness 
and  the  faults  for  which  he  blamed  me  were  my  in- 
heritance from  her. 

"He  was  absent  during  my  early  years,  and  I 
was  brought  up  by  his  parents.  He  came  home 
when  I  was  a  little  girl.  There  was  something 
wrong  about  me,  for  I  felt  such  a  repugnance  to 
him.  I  ought  to  have  loved  him,  but  I  not  only  feared 
him,  but  when  he  tried  to  fondle  me,  I  almost  hated 
him.  I  do  not  want  to  write  about  that.  He  was 
— well,  everything  that  intemperance  makes  a  man. 
My  grandmother  was  weak  and  subservient  to  him. 
She  died  clinging  to  him,  and  believing  that  all  his 
vices  were  largely  my  mother's  fault,  She  blamed 
me  for  my  own  feeling  toward  him,  and  insisted 
that  if  I  loved  him  and  was  tender  to  him,  and 
gave  my  life  to  making  him  happy  as  a  true  daugh- 
ter should,  that  I  could  save  him.  Sometimes  I 
tried,  but  oftener  I  resisted  and  rebelled. 

"  I  hated  my  home,  I  hated  my  life.  My  grand- 
father was  always  at  war  with  his  son ;  but  after 
he  became  a  helpless  paralytic,  he  came  more 
or  less  to  trust  him  with  his  affairs,  and  in  a 
few  years  the  fortune  was  utterly  dissipated  and 
swept  away. 

"  My  education  was  constantly  interrupted  by 
these  home  troubles.  My  father  did  not  care 
whether  I  was  taught  or  not,  except  in  the  matter 
of  the  training  of  my  voice.  He  thought  it  an  ex- 
ceptional voice,  and  often  said  to  me  that  I  must 


304  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

go  on  with  my  singing  lessons,  for  he  expected,  if 
his  father  would  not  take  care  of  him,  that  he 
would  have  a  fortune  in  my  voice,  and  added  that 
he  would  find  ways  to  make  me  understand  my 
duty  as  a  child.  The  pity  of  it  was  that  I  did 
understand.  If  he  had  been  like  my  poor  grand- 
father, I  could  have  loved  him  and  served  him  with 
all  my  heart.  Only  the  thought  that  grandmother 
was  gone,  and  that  grandfather  had  no  one  else  to 
care  for  him,  enabled  me  to  live  the  life  that  came 
after  the  fortune  was  gone.  The  old  home  and 
everything  in  it  was  taken  by  creditors.  The  little 
apartment  in  which  my  grandfather  lived  out  his 
last  days,  and  where  with  my  own  hands  I  had  to 
do  all  that  was  done,  was  the  scene  of  bitter  up- 
braiding from  the  father,  and  bitter,  brutal  indiffer- 
ence and  neglect  on  the  part  of  the  son. 

"  The  old  man  softened  toward  his  only  child 
before  he  died,  and  on  the  last  day  of  his  life  he 
talked  about  him,  and  said  when  he  was  gone  he 
would  have  no  friend  but  me  in  all  the  wide,  wide 
world.  He  implored  me  to  stand  by  him.  He 
made  me  promise  solemnly  that  I  would  not  for- 
sake him,  that  I  would  make  it  my  life-work  to  save 
him. 

"  You  have  often  asked  me  how  I  knew  what 
working  girls  and  working  women,  and  the  children 
of  the  slums,  and  the  daughters  of  drunkards,  had 
to  endure ;  how  I  could  work  for  them  as  I  had 
done  ?  The  truth  is,  I  had  lived  it  all.  I  tried 
in  every  way  to  support  and  care  for  this  man.  I 
sang  in  church,  I  gave  music  lessons,  I  took  in 
sewing  in  the  evenings,  I  washed  and  scrubbed  and 


KATHARINE  GRAY  305 

kept  our  poor  rooms  clean.  I  cooked  the  food  and 
he  cursed  me  while  he  ate,  but  I  kept  my  vow 
until  the  day  when  he  said  he  had  made  an  engage- 
ment for  me  to  sing  in  a  concert  saloon.  That 
night  I  forsook  him,  and  left  him  to  his  life  and  to 
his  fate. 

"  I  had  no  refuge  except  with  an  old  woman  who 
had  been  my  father's  nurse.  She  took  me  in,  but 
I  was  not  safe  from  him  even  there.  Some  day,  if 
ever  I  have  strength,  I  can  tell  you  such  a  story  of 
a  girl's  struggle  to  earn  support  as  has  never  been 
matched  by  that  of  any  girl  of  the  many  you  have 
helped  and  cheered.  But  I  found  an  honest  way. 
Through  an  employment  agency  I  learned  of  an 
aged  invalid  woman  desiring  a  nurse  who  would 
care  for  her  during  a  long  sojourn  at  German  baths 
and  other  health  resorts.  I  applied  for  the  situa- 
tion. The  woman,  for  some  reason,  seemed  to  like 
me.  She  was  paralyzed,  and  when  I  told  her  that 
I  had  nursed  and  cared  for  a  paralytic  grandfather 
for  some  years,  she  seemed  to  feel  that  I  could  care 
for  her. 

"  Within  a  year  from  the  time  I  broke  my  vow 
to  live  to  save  my  father,  we  were  settled  in  Flor- 
ence. One  night,  when  Mrs.  Graham  was  restless, 
I  sang  to  her.  She  seemed  delighted  with  my 
voice.  The  next  day  she  called  me  to  her  and 
asked  me  to  tell  her  all  about  my  past  life.  I  told 
her,  and  why,  with  a  voice  like  mine,  I  had  accepted 
this  position.  It  ended  in  her  insisting  that  I 
should  continue  my  musical  studies,  but  I  was  so 
bitter  and  so  proud,  and  had  so  little  trust  in  God 
or  in  any  human  being,  that  I  refused  the  lessons  as 

u 


306  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

a  gift.  I  stayed  with  her  all  the  remaining  years  of 
her  life.  And  when  she  died,  she  left  me,  in  her 
will,  calling  me  the  '  beloved  friend  and  comforter 
of  her  declining  years,'  enough  to  complete  a  musi- 
cal training  that  would  fit  me  to  support  myself  by 
my  music.  I  asked  her  for  the  privilege  of  tak- 
ing her  name,  for  my  life  was  haunted  by  the  fear 
that  my  father  should  find  me,  though  I  was  never 
free  from  self-condemnation  because  I  had  not 
kept  my  promise  to  give  my  life  to  him.  I  never 
deliberately  decided  not  to  go  back  to  him,  but  I 
did  think  that  if  I  sang  upon  the  stage,  or  in  any 
public  way,  it  was  better  that  the  old  name  should 
not  be  known.  I  thought  too,  that  I  could  more 
easily  find  and  care  for  my  father  if  he  did  not  know 
where  or  how  to  find  me,  and  when  I  came  back  to 
this  country  I  did  try  to  find  him,  but  there  was  no- 
where to  look  except  among  his  old  haunts,  and  cer- 
tainly he  was  not  there. 

"  Then  came  the  comfort  and  the  consolation  of 
your  care,  dear  Mrs.  Maitland,  and  of  Gretta's 
beautiful  friendship,  and  after  that  the  awful  temp- 
tation of  Harold's  tenderness  and  love,  and  I 
yielded  to  them  all. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  first  night  when  Gretta 
brought  me  home,  and  you  let  me  sit  at  your  feet, 
while  Harold  played  and  all  the  others  sang,  and 
they  read  this  passage,  '  The  Lord  thy  God  in  the 
midst  of  thee  is  mighty  '  ?  Do  you  know,  I  hadn't 
been  believing  for  a  long  time  in  any  God,  or  love, 
or  home,  or  heaven,  or  in  any  human  kindness. 
That  night  was  a  revelation  to  me,  and  I  assure  you, 
Mrs.  Maitland,  I  felt  like  a  child  that  had  found  a 


KATHARINE   GRAY  307 

home.  Somehow  the  atmosphere  of  Wildholm 
seemed  native  air  to  roe,  and  I  could  never  begin  to 
tell  you  how,  from  that  day  on,  I  clung  to  my 
thought  of  you,  and  my  desire  to  get  back  to  you 
whenever  I  was  away. 

"  You  did  not  heed  it  much,  because  your  rjeart 
was  full  of  Gretta,  and  though  you  were  very  kind 
to  me,  you  did  not  know  that  my  heart  was  always 
waiting  beside  yours  like  a  little  homesick  child. 
When  you  looked  approvingly  at  me  or  smiled  upon 
me,  I  was  always  strong  to  go  back  to  my  work, 
and  when  you  began  to  show  me  the  ways  in  which 
I  could  carry  out  my  desire  to  help  others  who  had 
been  as  miserable  as  myself,  you  really  began  to 
put  new  life  into  me.  Then  Gretta's  faith  and 
Gretta's  sunny,  beautiful  trust  was  another  teacher 
for  me,  and  Harold  Moore's  prayer  that  Easter 
evening  was  the  first  prayer  that  1  had  heard  for 
years  that  had  not  been  answered  by  a  bitter  feel- 
ing in  my  heart.  I  felt  that  God  could  not  be  good, 
and  let  young  women  suffer  as  I  had  suffered,  as 
others  suffered,  from  the  brutal  degradation  of 
those  who  ought  to  protect  them  from  all  harm. 

"After  I  began  to  feel  what  it  was  to  have  God 
in  my  heart,  I  began  to  feel  too,  that  probably 
grandmother  was  right,  that  it  was  the  utter  ab- 
sence of  love  in  me  that  made  it  impossible  for  me 
to  help  or  win  my  father.  He  was  my  own,  and 
yet  I  hated  him.  You  were  not  my  own,  and  I 
loved  you,  and  that  was  pure  selfishness  of  course. 
I  loved  you  because  you  were  kind  to  me,  and  I 
hated  him  because  he  was  unkind.  If  ye  love 
them  that  love  you,  what  reward  have  ye  ? 


308  .        THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  You  see  I  gave  up  the  duty  that  God  had 
given  me,  and  that  I  had  vowed  to  perform,  and 
tried  to  atone  for  my  wrong-doing  by  saying  that  I 
would  give  as  much  of  my  life  as  possible  to  the 
helping  of  others  who  were  unfortunate  and  sad. 
You  know  how  I  have  interested  myself  in  other 
girls.  You  do  not  know  how  I  have  always  tried 
to  work  as  much  as  possible  for  the  daughters  of 
those  who  had  suffered  by  intemperance.  You 
wonder  that  my  eyes  blaze,  and  that  I  become 
excited  when  men  like  Shakespeare  Potts,  and  a 
good  many  others,  laugh  at  the  women  who  wear 
the  yellow  or  white  ribbon  or  the  little  silver  cross. 
It  is  hard  for  me  to  remember  that  such  critics  do 
not  know,  and  cannot  know,  the  blight  and  wreck 
that  drink  is  to  human  lives  and  homes.  Why,  Mrs. 
Maitland,  I  believe  I  could  become  a  greater  fanatic 
than  has  ever  been  born  upon  that  one  question 
alone,  because  of  my  knowledge  of  its  resultant 
misery  and  degradation  and  sin. 

"  There  is  nothing  more  to  be  told.  I  had  been 
willing  to  work,  but  I  would  not  take  the  concert 
singer's  life,  although  I  knew  I  could  earn  more  in 
that  way  than  I  could  do  by  teaching.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  I  could  never  stand  before  an  audience 
without  searching  in  it  for  my  father's  angry  face. 
But  I  taught  early  and  late.  I  lived  frugally.  I 
have  saved  as  much  money  as  I  ever  received  at 
Mrs.  Graham's  hands,  and  am  ready  to  pass  it  over 
to  some  one  who  will  do  the  good  with  it  that  it 
might  have  done  if  it  had  never  come  to  me.  Be- 
sides this,  I  can  earn  by  my  teaching  more  than 
enough  for  one. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  309 

"  You  must  not  feel  that  my  mental  struggle 
was  altogether  new,  dear  friend  Ever  after  I  al- 
lowed myself  to  be  happy  in  the  thought  of  love 
and  home  I  was  troubled.  I  had  made  a  dying 
pillow  easy  by  a  vow  that  I  would  give  my  life  to 
saving  my  father.  I  knew  also,  that  somewhere  in 
the  world  was  my  mother,  perhaps  an  outcast  and  a 
sinner  too.  What  right  had  I  to  bring  the  daughter 
of  such  parents  to  any  good  man's  home? 

"  And  how  could  Harold  hope  to  find  a  helper  in 
me  in  doing  good  work  for  the  families  of  other 
drunkards,  teaching  daughters  and  mothers  that 
their  patience  and  love  should  last  while  life  lasts, 
when  I  turned  my  back  upon  my  own  ? 

"  I  was  such  a  coward,  Mrs.  Maitland,  that  it 
took  me  a  long  time,  after  I  knew  the  right,  to  be 
willing  to  go  back  to  my  duty,  to  lay  down  my  sel- 
fish hopes  of  happiness  and  home.  And  when  I 
had  taken  my  resolve  to  find  my  parents,  to  give 
myself  to  them  as  long  as  they  needed  me,  I  think 
I  comforted  myself  with  a  hope  that  they  could  not 
be  found,  or  that  if  found  they  might  not  want  me 
or  need  me,  or  might  need  only  the  money  I  could 
earn.  I  clung  to  the  hope  that  I  should  be  able 
soon  to  bring  back  to  you,  Mrs.  Maitland,  all  my 
best  years  and  best  powers,  and  offer  them  to  you 
for  the  use  of  the  poor  and  suffering  for  whom  you 
cared.  You  see.  dear  friend,  to  whom  I  owe  so 
much  of  my  knowledge  and  love  of  the  truth,  that 
all  this  time  of  my  repentance  I  was  'rebuilding 
my  house  of  lies.'  I  constantly  gave  up  my  love 
for  Harold,  and  my  joy  of  being  near  you  all,  and 
as  constantly  when  I  saw  them  escaping,  my  heart 


310  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

went  out  after  them  and  hugged  them  to  itself  once 
more.  And  you  must  tell  Harold  that,  had  it  not 
been  for  what  I  learned  of  you,  and  of  him,  and  of 
Gretta,  of  a  life  that  '  seeketh  not  its  own,'  a  life 
with  God  in  the  midst,  I  would  never  have  been 
able  to  resist  the  temptation  to  just  stay  and  love 
you  all,  and  be  happy  with  you  forever. 

"  And  do  you  know,  I  gave  up  finally  only  that 
night  in  the  church  when  I  stood  up  and  sang  for 
you.  My  own  heart  went  out  with  the  words,  and 
for  the  first  time  I  was  willing,  heart  willing,  to 
seek  and  to  save.  For  the  first  time  it  seemed  to 
me  better  to  '  rescue  the  perishing,  care  for  the 
dying '  than  to  live  my  own  life  of  love  and  joy. 
Ever  since  I  have  been  so  grateful  that  God  sent 
the  joy  in  service  before  it  was  forced  upon  me,  for 
when  the  music  ended,  there,  in  the  midst  of  that 
throng  looking  up  at  me  with  the  old  look  that  I 
hated  when  a  child,  I  saw  my  father's  face.  When 
I  fled  from  him  I  left  him  a  letter  telling  him  that 
1  was  not  unmindful  of  my  promise  to  his  father, 
that  I  was  willing  to  work  for  him  in  all  honest 
and  reputable  ways  ;  that  if  the  time  ever  came  in 
his  life  that  he  was  sick  and  in  trouble  and  needed 
me,  I  would  come  to  him  and  take  care  of  him  and 
try  to  keep  my  word.  And  here  he  was.  I  had 
only  to  look  at  his  face  to  see  how  ill  he  looked, 
what  a  wreck  he  was,  to  know  that  the  time  of 
needing  me  had  come. 

"  The  next  morning  he  came  to  me  in  the  garden 
at  Wildholm,  and  though  he  did  not  know  it,  I  sent 
him  away  fully  intending  to  follow. 

"  And    I   have  found  him.     I   shall  never  leave 


KATHARINE   GRAY  311 

him  while  he  lives.  If  this  work  does  not  take  all 
the  rest  of  my  days,  perhaps,  dear  Mrs.  Maitland, 
some  day  you  will  let  me  come  back  to  watch  be- 
side you  after  dear  Gretta  makes  a  home  with  Mr. 
Conrad  who,  as  you  know,  has  long  had  possession 
of  her  heart. 

"  To  Harold  I  can  never  come  back,  but  some 
other  woman  will  be  to  him  what  I  could  not  have 
been  ;  but  I  believe  none  will  ever  love  him  more 
than  I  have  loved. 

"  To  me  the  way  is  clear — to  give  my  life  to  my 
father,  and  to  my  mother,  if  she  may  be  found.  If 
not,  to  give  it  to  others  who  have  suffered  or  sinned, 
and  who  are  needing  the  love  of  God  as  it  can 
come  to  them  only  through  the  love  of  one  who 
can  give  herself  for  them." 

It  was  early  afternoon  when  Katharine  began  to 
read.  The  dusk  was  falling,  and  she  still  sat  in  her 
room  with  the  folded  sheets  held  tightly  in  her 
hand.  Her  face  was  white  and  drawn.  Her  eyes 
had  again  the  same  horror  stricken  look  that  Gretta 
had  so  recently  kissed  away.  From  the  garden  be- 
low she  could  hear  Gretta's  voice,  in  merry  talk  with 
Conrad.  What  strange  Nemesis  was  this  that  pur- 
sued her  ?  What  network  was  this  that  was  weav- 
ing itself  closer  and  closer  about  her  life  ?  Who  sent 
them,  one  after  another,  Harold  Moore,  and  Theo- 
dore and  his  mother,  and  Robert,  and  now  this 
beautiful  girl,  who  had  lived  day  after  day  under 
the  same  roof,  whom  she  never  liked  because  of  a 
haunting  something  in  her  face  that  was  familiar, 
and  that  always  seemed  to  bear  in  it  a  reproach  ? 


313  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

a  girl  to  whom  she  had  been  kind  for  Gretta's  sake, 
but  with  an  intangible  reluctance  to  receive  her 
whenever  she  came,  and  a  sense  of  relief  when  she 
was  gone.  She  understood  it  now.  She  understood 
that  some  subtle  inward  chord  between  Margaret's 
heart  and  that  of  Mrs.  Maitland  had  made  those 
two  understand  and  love  each  other.  She  under- 
stood that  some  unrecognized  consciousness  of  kin- 
ship had  drawn  Margaret's  heart  and  Gretta's  close 
together.  She  understood  the  warfare  between  the 
conscience  and  the  nature  that  could  not,  try  as 
she  would,  feel  any  throb  of  natural  love  for  Robert 
Gray.  She  understood  why  old  Debby  had  so  many 
times  come  to  her,  saying,  "If  Miss  Gretta  jest  let 
ole  Debby  take  care  of  her  and  all  her  things, 
like  Miss  Graham  do,  'twould  'pear  mighty  sight 
more  like  Miss  Gretta  was  Massa  Larry's  own 
child.  Miss  Graham  she's  every  bit  like  our  own 
fambly  folks ;  'pears  like  Miss  Graham  done  b'long 
here  jest  same's  Miss  Gretta  do." 

Mrs.  Gray  understood  also  why  Theodore  treated 
Margaret  with  the  protective  brotherly  kindness 
that  had  always  marked  his  manner ;  she  thought 
she  knew  even  why  old  Biddy,  no  matter  how  rest- 
less she  might  be,  sank  into  quiet  and  comfort 
when  she  was  near.  Between  Margaret  and  every 
one  of  these  was  the  subtle  link  of  old  association. 
She,  alone — because  in  her  heart  had  been  kept 
no  tender  memory  of  love — she  alone  felt  no 
throb  of  this  unseen  tender  tie  that  bound  all  the 
others  more  or  less  closely  to  her  sister's  child. 
And  even  now,  no  throb  of  gladness  that  she  lived, 
and  was  good  and  true  and  brave,  as  her  sister 


KATHARINE   GRAY  313 

would  have  been  proud  to  have  her  be,  softened  the 
pang  of  fear  and  annoyance  that  she  should  have 
crossed  her  path  again. 

She  underwent  no  very  extended  conflict  as  to 
whether  she  should  take  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Maitland. 
If  Mrs.  Maitland  read  it,  Gretta  would  read  it.  If 
Gretta  read  it  Theodore  would  do  so,  and  if  Theo- 
dore read  it  he  would  know  at  once  that  the  woman 
who  should  be  at  Wildholm  in  the  place  of  her  own 
child — the  woman  to  whom  should  come  the  wealth 
and  the  position  and  the  love  that  had  blessed,  and 
that  ought  to  continue  to  bless  Gretta' s  life — the 
woman  whom  she  had  deserted  as  a  child,  and  who 
would  be  able  to  follow  step  by  step  the  dark  road 
of  deceit  that  she  herself  had  trod,  the  woman 
who,  if  she  came  back  into  their  lives,  would  per- 
haps bring  Robert  with  her,  was  waiting  some- 
where to  be  called  to  claim  her  own.  Nor  was  this 
all.  She  had  sneered  at  the  drawn  sword,  but  she 
knew  too  well  the  sense  of  justice  in  the  heart  of 
Theodore  Burke  to  believe  for  a  moment  that  he 
would  take  to  himself  a  bride,  allowing  her  to  re- 
tain a  name  and  an  inheritance  to  which  she  had  no 
claim.  A  wild  thought  took  possession  of  her,  of 
taking  the  letter  to  him,  revealing  all  the  facts,  ap- 
pealing to  him  to  conceal  them,  and  to  save  her 
from  Gretta's  scorn  when  she  knew  who  she  was, 
and  comprehended  what  her  life  had  been.  But  only 
for  one  brief  moment  did  the  impulse  run  riot  in  her 
mind.  She  watched  them,  Theodore  and  Gretta, 
as  out  yonder  in  the  garden  they  moved  up  and 
down  in  the  afternoon  shadows,  and  her  knees 
trembled  and  her  whole  frame  shook  with  the 


314  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

thought  of  having  Gretta  know.  Then  the  courage 
of  habit  came  to  her  rescue.  Surely  there  was  no 
need  of  this  agitation.  Mrs.  Maitland  was  not 
strong.  The  girl,  Margaret,  had  chosen  her  own 
life.  It  might  be  years  that  Robert  would  keep 
her  nursing  and  caring  for  him,  and  in  those  years 
what  might  not  happen  ?  Margaret  was  not  the 
woman  to  return  and  bring  that  man,  nor  the 
woman  again  to  forsake  him.  Mrs.  Maitland  was 
old  ;  Theodore's  mother  was  old.  If  Margaret  got 
no  answer,  she  would  only  suppose  that  the  letter 
widened  the  breach.  To  show  the  letter  was  folly 
and  madness  ;  and  calmly  folding  it  up,  she  glanced 
about  her  room.  There  was  no  place  of  safety. 
Gretta  was  in  the  habit  of  going  constantly  to  her 
closets  and  her  desk. 

While  she  hesitated  a  rap  came  at  the  door,  and 
old  Debby  brought  a  request  from  Mr.  Conrad  that 
he  might  see  her  in  the  library.  Hastily  dropping 
the  letter  into  her  pocket,  she  descended  to  find 
him  waiting  for  her,  with  a  face  full  of  such  ear- 
nest and  happy  hopefulness  as  reminded  her  of  the 
boy  she  had  known  long  ago. 

She  took  her  hand  from  the  letter  she  was  grasp- 
ing so  tightly  in  her  pocket,  and  wondered,  as  she 
put  it  in  his  warm  grasp,  if  he  would  feel  how  the 
very  touch  of  that  paper  was  tingling  and  stinging 
to  the  very  ends  of  her  fingers.  But  he  felt  noth- 
ing evidently,  except  the  new  happiness  that  was 
flooding  his  life. 

"  Of  course  you  did  not  think  it  strange,  dear 
Mrs.  Gray,"  he  began,  "  that  I  spoke  to  Mrs.  Mait- 
land first.  I  could  not,  as  you  understand,  ask  you 


KATHARINE  GRAY  .    315 

for  Gretta  when," — he  added,  sadly — "  she  doesn't 
seem  even  to  remember  that  she  belongs  to  you. 
But  I  do  not  forget,  and  I  believe  you  would  be 
willing  to  share  her  love  with  me.  As  for  me  I 
have  always  loved  her,  and  have  never  known  an 
hour  in  my  life  when  my  heart  turned  away  from 
her  toward  any  other  woman.  She  aroused  the 
manly  and  protective  instinct  in  me  when  I  was  only 
a  child  and  seemed  given  me  to  care  for  and  de- 
fend. I  can  never  think  of  living  the  rest  of  my 
life  without  her.  Indeed,  I  never  have  lived  without 
her.  She  has  been  in  every  purpose  since  I  had  a 
purpose,  and  in  every  plan  and  hope  and  dream  she 
has  always  had  her  place.  Surely  you  are  not  un- 
willing?" he  asked,  having  in  his  own  eagerness 
failed  to  notice  the  pallor  of  her  troubled  face. 
"  You  cannot  lose  her  in  giving  her  to  me." 

"  No,  not  unwilling,  only  very,  very  thankful  and 
glad,"  she  said,  her  lips  trembling.  "But  as  for 
losing  her,  Teddy,"  she  said,  using  the  old  name  for 
the  first  time  and  turning  to  him  with  more  of  the 
old,  confiding  manner  than  he  had  seen  before,  "  I 
have — "  and  her  voice  suddenly  choked  with  sobs — 
"  I  have  lost  her  already.  I  have  reared  her  to 
think  of  herself  as  belonging  to.  some  one  else,  un- 
til I  have  cheated  my  heart  of  its  child.  And,  oh, 
my  God  !  "  she  added,  passionately,  "there  are  times 
when  the  mother  in  me  is  wild  for  her  I  feel  some- 
times as  if  I  could  take  her  in  my  arms  and  cry  out 
to  all  the  world  that  she  is  mine,  mine,  mine." 

"  She  will  be  none  the  less  yours  for  belonging 
to  me,"  said  Theodore,  soothingly.  "  I  shall  find 
the  child  heart  in  her  and  bring  it  back  to  you.  Do 


316  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

you  not  remember  how  I  found  her  for  you  once 
before  ? " 

And  she  suddenly  turned  upon  him,  her  eyes 
streaming  with  tears,  and  placing  both  her  hands  in 
his,  said,  with  a  passionate  outbreak  of  feeling, 
"  You  helped  me  then,  dear  boy.  You  stood  by 
me  then.  I  was  a  weak  and  foolish,  and  perhaps  a 
wicked  woman.  Certainly  I  was  wicked  when  I 
married  Robert  Gray.  But  it  didn't  matter  to  you 
whether  I  was  weak  or  strong,  evil  or  good." 

He  winced  a  little,  and  his  face  grew  pale.  He 
remembered  the  shock  that  came  to  him  when  first 
he  saw  something  in  her  that  made  her  seem  less 
than  noble  and  true,  but  he  only  held  her  hands 
more  tightly  and  listened  as  she  went  on. 

"  I  loved  my  daughter  and  it  didn't  matter  to  you 
what  I  did  or  what  I  was,  for  you  loved  her  too,  and 
we  two,  out  of  the  wide  world,  are  the  ones  who 
love  her  still.  And  I  have  lost  her,"  she  repeated, 
with  a  look  of  anguish  such  as  might  have  been  on 
her  face  if  she  gazed  into  an  open  grave.  "  She 
loves  me  too,  but  I  never  feel  that  she  trusts  me. 
She  is  never  able  to  bring  to  me  her  innermost 
feeling  or  thought.  There  is  a  barrier  always  be- 
tween us.  Promise  me,  oh,  my  friend,  that  nothing 
that  you  ever  do,  or  that  you  ever  say,  shall  widen 
this  gulf.  Promise  me  that  my  mistakes,  even  the 
things  I  have  done  that  are  wrong,  shall  never  be 
made  known  by  you  to  her  ;  that  she  shall  be  kept 
by  you  from  learning  to  despise  the  mother  who  has 
lived  for  her  and  who  would  have  died  for  her." 

And  Theodore,  remembering  nothing  but  that  in 
those  early  days  she  had  been  willful  and  unwise, 


KATHARINE   GRAY  317 

soothed  and  chided  her  for  blaming  herself  over- 
much for  the  misfortunes  of  her  life,  and  readily 
promised  that  if  it  were  in  human  power  to  help  it, 
life  should  bring  nothing  more  to  rob  the  mother  of 
her  child. 

And  when  she  seemed  comforted,  he  added,  "  I 
wanted  more  than  your  consent  to  give  Gretta  to 
me,  Mrs.  Gray,  this  afternoon.  I  wanted  to  go  on 
with  the  little  story  that  I  began  to  tell  you  in  this 
room  so  long  ago,  and  that  ended  with  my  discov- 
ery that  Gretta  was  back  at  the  house  of  your 
father-in-law.  I  was  thinking  about  this  strange 
change  of  names  that  has  come  to  both  of  us.  When 
Gretta  comes  to  me  she  must  come,  of  course,  in 
her  own  name,  unless  she  was  legally  adopted  by 
Mrs.  Maitland,  and  given  the  name  of  Wild.  I  sup- 
pose you  provided  for  that,  did  you  not  ?  "  and  Kath- 
arine, once  more  feeling  the  sword  of  discovery 
swinging  above  her  head,  whispered  unhesitatingly, 

"Yes." 

"  That  is  all  right  then.  And  it  is  all  right  also 
in  my  own  case.  I  took  the  Conrad  name  with  the 
Conrad  fortune,  which  came  to  me  from  the  man 
who,  after  those  early  years  of  battling  with  hard 
work  and  temptation  and  poverty  in  Chicago,  took 
me  into  his  business  and  into  his  home  and  into 
his  heart  as  well.  I  did  not  tell  you  anything  be- 
yond the  fact  that  that  blessed  old  nurse,  for  whom 
I  secured  one-half  the  money  due  her  from  Robert 
Gray,  gave  me  a  room  in  her  house,  and  gave  me 
work  among  the  chickens  and  the  flowers  in  her  yard, 
and  made  me  her  boy  of  all  work  until  I  secured  a 
position  in  the  mercantile  house  of  Conrad  &  Son. 


318  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

I  did  not  tell  you  how  I  got  that  first  position. 
Remember,  I  had  nothing  to  comfort  my  soul  in 
those  days  except  my  memory  of  yourself  and 
Gretta.  I  used  to  pass  that  little  grocery  after  my 
work  was  done,  and  actually  peer  in  to  see  if  I  could 
get  a  look  at  the  baby  wagon,  which  must  have 
tumbled  to  pieces  long  ere  then.  My  chief  pleas- 
ure was  in  sitting  on  the  shady  side  of  the  wall  of 
that  old  stone  church  where  you  waited  while  I 
wheeled  the  baby  to  you.  My  favorite  walk,  as  I 
told  you,  was  round  and  round  the  square,  imagin- 
ing that  I  had  the  little  thing  before  me  in  the 
wagon. 

"  One  sunny  summer  afternoon,  I  fell  asleep  sit- 
ting upon  the  steps  of  that  church.  My  great  de- 
light was  in  listening  to  the  throbbing  and  swelling 
of  the  organ  music,  as  it  came  out  through  the  half- 
closed  doors.  I  opened  my  eyes  from  a  heavy  slum- 
ber to  see  a  throng  of  carriages  by  the  door,  and  to 
see  a  long,  black  coffin,  piled  high  with  flowers  and 
wreaths,  borne  by  the  arms  of  strong,  young  men 
down  the  aisle  and  placed  before  the  altar.  Behind 
it  followed  a  man  with  a  kind  face,  who  walked  with 
head  bowed  low,  as  if  crushed  with  an  overwhelm- 
ing grief.  The  church  filled  slowly.  I  watched 
from  my  post  at  the  door  and  heard  the  service,  and 
bowed  my  head,  and  shrank  back  into  the  shadows 
of  the  porch  as  they  bore  the  body  forth  again. 
They  had  placed  it  in  the  hearse,  which  was  drawn 
forward  a  few  steps,  and  the  gentleman  was  enter- 
ing his  carriage  with  eyes  hardly  lifted  from  the 
ground,  when  the  sudden  dash  of  a  fire-engine 
around  the  church  corner  frightened  the  horses, 


KATHARINE   GRAY  319 

and  he  was  thrown  back  upon  the  pavement,  with 
his  body  between  the  wheels.  The  horses  reared 
and  plunged,  and  I,  who  stood  nearest,  sprang  to 
their  heads,  and  though  I  was  such  a  little  fellow 
that  they  lifted  me  from  the  ground  and  fairly 
swung  me,  I  kept  my  hold  until  the  injured  man 
was  lifted  to  the  walk. 

"  He  insisted  upon  getting  into  the  carriage,  de- 
claring he  was  not  hurt ;  and  when  a  gentleman 
would  have  entered  with  him,  he  waved  him  aside, 
and  reaching  out  his  hand  to  me,  said,  "  Come,  my 
little  man,  I  want  you  here  with  me."  And  all 
that  long,  slow,  silent  ride,  while  he  gazed  out  at 
the  window  and  up  at  the  sky,  I  sat  oppressed  by 
the  solemn  sadness  of  his  face,  in  the  corner  of  the 
carriage  opposite  this  sad  old  man.  At  the  grave 
he  did  not  beckon  me  to  come,  and  I  waited  by  the 
carriage  door.  When  it  was  all  over  and  he  came 
back  and  sank  into  his  seat  with  his  face  buried  in 
his  hands,  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  me ;  but  as 
the  carriage  started  he  motioned  me  to  come  in,  and 
though  he  never  spoke  to  me  and  never  looked  at 
me,  I  felt  somehow  not  afraid  of  him,  only  afraid  of 
disturbing  the  great  sorrow  that  seemed  to  be 
breaking  his  heart. 

"  We  stopped  at  last.  It  was  before  the  Conrad 
mansion.  I  do  not  know  whether  he  saw  the  tears 
in  my  eyes  or  not,  but  he  took  me  in.  He  ques- 
tioned me.  He  offered  me  money  which  I  could 
not  take,  but  he  found  I  wanted  work.  It  is  a  long 
story.  He  gave  me  a  place  in  his  counting-room 
and,  after  a  while  he  gave  me  a  place  in  his  home. 
His  wife  had  died  years  before.  The  new  grave 


32O  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

held  the  remains  of  his  only  son,  a  young  man  just 
admitted  to  his  father's  business. 

"  I  never  shall  forget  the  joy  of  that  day  when  my 
savings  had  amounted  to  enough  to  enable  me  to 
pay  all  that  Mr.  Gray  had  left  unpaid  of  that  old 
sum  for  taking  care  of  our  little  girl.  I  was  the 
proudest  and  happiest  lad  in  Chicago.  I  remember 
I  lingered  on  the  way  and  stole  into  the  church  we 
both  know,  and  said  my  prayers  in  a  shadowy  cor- 
ner behind  a  pillar.  My  mother  took  me  to  church 
when  I  was  a  wee  laddie,  and  I  confess  that  to  this 
day  an  open  church  door  tempts  me  to  go  in  and 
sit  in  the  dim  silence  and  pray.  Of  course,  the 
good  old  woman  resisted  taking  the  money ;  declared 
she  did  not  need  it.  But  to  me  it  was  a  promise  to 
be  kept,  a  debt  to  be  paid.  My  first  debt,"  he 
added,  "  and  I  have  never  made  another.  Mrs. 
Brown  said  her  luck  turned  on  the  day  that  I 
came  back  to  her,  ragged  and  hungry  and  forlorn. 
Perhaps  it  did.  I  only  know  she  is  living  there 
still,  and  still  filling  her  rooms  with  people  for  whom 
she  is  sorry,  and  who  frequently  do  not  pay.  It 
doesn't  matter,  though.  I  shall  be  able  to  see  that 
she  never  knows  want  again,  and  the  fact  that  once 
she  protected  and  cared  for  Gretta  is  reason  enough 
for  me  to  care  for  her.  You  know  all  the  rest,  Mrs. 
Gray.  You  have  heard  how  generously  Mr.  Con- 
rad gave  me  a  choice  of  my  own  career  in  life,  and 
you  know  too  that  before  he  died  he  gave  me  the 
name  and  the  place  in  his  heart  and  the  place  in 
his  fortune  that  he  would  have  given  to  the  one 
who  died." 

"And  you  deserved  it  all,"  said  Katharine,  who 


KATHARINE   GRAY  321 

had  listened  so  intently  that  for  the  moment  she 
had  forgotten  her  own  sorrow  and  shame.  "  You 
have  deserved  it  all." 

"  But  I  have  valued  it  all,"  he  added,  "  because  it 
has  given  me  the  power  to  help  '  the  widow  and  the 
fatherless  in  their  affliction,'  to  undo  the  heavy  bur- 
dens, and  to  let  the  oppressed  go  free.  My  mother's 
early  experience,  your  awful  life,  the  fate  of  the 
women  who  suffer  and  toil,  the  degradation  in 
which  little  children  are  reared,  the  pollution  by 
drink  of  the  body  that  was  meant  to  be  the  temple 
of  the  living  God,  the  self-seeking  of  human  beings, 
the  dishonesty  in  business,  the  corruption  in  poli- 
tics, the  debasement  of  even  our  governmental  life 
— everything,  everything  made  me  feel  that,  in  so 
far  as  one  human  life  put  between  these  evils  and 
their  victims  could  save  or  help,  my  one  life  should 
be  given  to  that  end.  Beyond  that,  my  one  personal 
purpose  and  desire  was  to  find  and  serve  the  woman 
and  the  child  who  had  won  my  boyish  heart.  To 
find  you  two,  to  take  my  place  again  in  your  lives 
as  protector  and  friend,  to  bring  you  all  I  had  been 
able  to  wrest  from  life,  this  was  my  dream.  Even 
in  the  long  years  before  I  gave  up  my  search  for 
my  mother,  I  think  I  was  unconsciously  seeking 
also  for  you,  and  now  that  I  have  found  her,  I— 

"  Found  her  ?  "  said  Katharine,  with  an  involun- 
tary outward  movement  of  her  hands,  as  if  she  were 
striving  to  break  free  from  some  horrible  network 
that  was  tightening  about  her.  "When  did  you 
find  her,  and  where  ? " 

"  That  night  when  the  doctor  took  you  home 
from  the  meeting  so  ill  that  we  dared  not  excite 

v 


322  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

you.  She  was  in  the  carriage  with  you.  You  had 
seen  her  before,  when  she  was  here  as  Harold's 
patient ;  but  she  is  so  greatly  changed,  so  thin  and 
silent  that  of  course  you  did  not  know  her,  or  you 

would  have  been  the  first  to "  Katharine 

winced. 

"  She,  poor  dear,"  he  went  on,  "  knew  no  one  of 
us  I  think,  until  that  night.  That  night,  though 
you  did  not  see  him,  Robert  Gray  was  in  Washing- 
ton. Do  not  be  troubled,"  he  said,  seeing  that  she 
trembled  ;  "  he  is  gone,  and  will  never  disturb  you 
again.  'He  is  only  a  wreck  of  a  man,  but  I  have 
arranged  that  he  shall  not  live  in  hunger  and  die  in 
want."  You  see,"  he  added,  playfully,  "that  I  have 
only  been  forestalling  my  duties  as  your  son." 

"  How  can  I  thank  you  ?  "  she  murmured.  "  Did 
you  say  your  mother  saw  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  the  shock  of  her  sight  of  him,  and  of 
the  brutal  attack  he  made  upon  her,  brought  the 
past  all  back  to  her." 

"All?"  asked  Katharine,  feelingly,  her  white 
face  pitiful  in  its  dread. 

"  Perhaps  not  all,  but  she  recalls  the  railway  acci- 
dent. She  even  arouses  in  me  a  hope  that  after 
all  your  sister's  child  was  saved.  She  knows  you 
perfectly" — Katharine  shuddered — "and  the  last 
picture  left  on  her  brain  as  she  fell  was  that  of  a 
man  staggering  up  the  bank  with  a  child  in  his 
arms.  I  know  a  man  caught  the  child  from  my  own 
hands.  We  are  not  going  to  rest,  Gretta  and  I,  till 
we  have  found  Margaret  and  brought  her  back  to 
Harold,  who  has  saved  and  kept  my  mother  alive 
for  me.  He  is  a  changed  man  since  he  lost  Miss 


KATHARINE   GRAY  323 

Graham,  and  a  part  of  our  life-work  is  going  to 
be  the  bringing  of  her  back  to  him.  If  only  we 
might  also  find  your  sister's  child,  and  bring  her 
back  to  you,  we  should  indeed  be  glad." 

"It  is  impossible,  impossible,"  she  gasped. 

"It  seems  so,  but  worth  all  it  can  cost  to  try. 
Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Gray,  that  when  Mr.  Conrad 
made  me  his  heir,  I  felt  at  first  as  if  I  had  been 
deprived  of  my  right  to  work  and  earn  my  bread. 
And  then  I  just  put  his  fortune  all  aside  and  let  it 
grow,  and  said  to  myself  that  I  would  live  as  if  it 
were  not  mine.  It  should  be  used  for  the  poor  and 
oppressed.  It  has  been  a  trust  in  my  hands,  a 
sword  with  which  I  have  slain  the  dragons  of  dis- 
tress that  were  threatening  many  a  life.  I  would 
use  it  freely  to  find  your  niece  for  you." 

"  Did  you  care  so  much  for  that  child  ?  I  thought 
Gretta  was  the  one  you  loved." 

"  And  so  she  is,  my  love  and  my  life,"  he 
answered,  fervently;  "but  you  remember  in  your 
time  of  sore  trouble  you  entrusted  your  sister's 
little  one  to  me  to  keep  for  you,  and  I  want  to  fulfill 
that  trust." 

Her  head  bowed  low.  She  feared  her  eyes  might 
betray  her.  Her  fingers  linked  tightly  together  in 
her  lap,  felt  that  letter.  She  drew  it  forth  and 
Theodore  saw  it,  though  she  clasped  her  hands 
around  it  as  if  the  living,  writhing  secret  were  a 
serpent  out  of  which  she  would  crush  all  power  to 
coil  and  sting. 

It  was  a  moment  of .  almost  mortal  anguish  ; 
perhaps  the  final  struggle  of  the  outraged  truth  and 
honor  in  her  soul.  Slowly,  surely  her  life  was  com- 


324  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

ing  to  judgment.  She  was  as  certain  of  it  as  are 
the  condemned  toward  whom  the  day  of  doom  and 
darkness  creeps. 

But  here  was  one  more  chance  of  mercy.  In 
the  dim  twilight  to  her  excited  imagination  the 
somber  room  with  its  high  carved  panels  was  like 
some  old  confessional.  The  faces  of  the  old  por- 
traits of  true  men  and  pure  women  stood  out  pale 
against  the  shadows,  and  bent  sad  eyes  upon  her 
that  seemed  to  read  her  secret  through  and  through. 
Theodore's  noble  head  outlined  against  the  back  of 
the  carved  oak  chair  reminded  her  more  than  ever 
of  the  angel  of  the  lifted  sword.  He,  he  only  had 
the  power  to  slay  her  utterly  if  he  persisted  in  his 
purpose  to  find  her  sister's  child.  He  only  could 
keep  that  sword  from  falling,  and  he  only  out  of  all 
her  world  had  the  heart  to  pity  and  protect  her  if 
she  told  him  all.  Why  not  give  him  the  letter,  tell 
him  the  whole  story,  cast  off  in  one  moment  the 
horrible  burden  of  years,  be  ever  after  an  outcast 
and  alone,  a  wanderer,  a  toiler,  living  only  to  undo 
and  atone,  but  once  more,  once  more,  caring  only 
to  be  good. 

Lower  and  lower  the  head  dropped  upon  her 
breast ;  the  tense  fingers  relaxed  their  clasp,  a  hot 
rain  of  tears  fell  upon  the  listless  hands.  Sud- 
denly stole  into  the  window  Gretta's  voice  singing 
by  some  bedside  in  the  old  west  wing  the  anthem 
arranged  for  the  meeting  that  seemed  so  long  ago  : 

"  The  Lord  thy  God — in  the  midst — in  the  midst 
of  thee  is  mighty.  He  will  save.  He  will  rejoice 
over  thee  with  joy.  He  will  rest  in  his  love." 

Gretta !  Gretta !     At  the  thought  of  her  the  face 


KATHARINE   GRAY  325 

hardened  to  defiance.  Was  she  mad,  to  do  a  thing 
to  hasten  the  day  when  Gretta  should  hate  and  scorn 
her  as  she  hated  and  scorned  herself  ?  Not  even  if 
the  shining  wings  of  those  who  had  waited  to  bear  a 
joy  to  heaven  drooped  never  to  lift  again. 

Theodore  rose,  and  held  out  both  his  hands.  She 
put  hers  in  them,  and  looked  straight  into  the  noble, 
loving  face  whose  eyes  had  never  changed  from 
their  boyish  tenderness  and  truth.  One  great  truth 
went  surging  and  sweeping  through  her  brain. 
As  ever  he  was  Gretta's  and  her  own.  He,  by  the 
straight  path  of  justice  and  right,  had  brought  to 
Gretta  love  and  wealth  and  honor  and  name,  all 
and  more  than  'she  had  been  able  to  give  her  by  the 
devious  and  dreadful  road  her  burdened  soul  had 
trod.  She  had  lost  everything  for  herself,  won 
nothing  for  her  child  that  would  not  have  been  hers 
in  any  case.  She  had  gained  the  whole  world, 
wresting  it  out  of  God's  hand  only  to  find  that  He 
would  have  given  it  to  her,  if  she  could  have  trusted 
him,  without  one  penny  of  the  awful  price. 

Ted  took  her  trembling  hands,  and  gazed  down, 
with  his  old  tender,  protective  smile. 

"  You  have  suffered  much,"  he  said,  "  but  you 
have  been  so  faithful  and  so  good.  You  have  taught 
Gretta  everything  that  is  good.  The  old  mother 
whom  I  lost  long  ago  is  most  dear  to  me  still.  It 
is  a  joy  to  call  her  mother.  It  has  cut  me  to  the 
heart  to  see  your  face  when  Gretta  called  you  by 
another  name.  Hereafter  you  must  let  me  feel 
that  you  have  some  one  to  call  you  mother,  and  re- 
member no  act  of  mine  shall  ever  separate  you 
either  from  your  daughter  or  your  son." 


326  THE  TEMPTATION 

He  led  her  to  the  door,  and  as  he  held  the  dra- 
pery aside  for  her  to  pass,  stooped  down  and  kissed 
the  white,  unyielding  face. 

Ten  minutes  after,  Debby,  shaking  the  pillows  of 
the  sofa  and  putting  them  back  in  place,  and  re-ar- 
ranging the  books  upon  the  table,  picked  up  a  letter 
from  the  floor.  Poor  old  Debby,  she  could  not 
read,  but  she  waddled  away  with  it  and  laid  it  open 
in  Mrs.  Maitland's  hand. 


CHAPTER  XX 

KATHARINE  walked  steadily  till  she  reached 
her  door,  then  staggering  to  her  couch,  she 
threw  herself  upon  it  with  a  gesture  of  despair. 
Fool,  fool  of  a  boy,  a  sentimental,  over-conscien- 
tious boy,  to  search  as  he  would  through  the  world, 
and  bring  to  her  a  woman  to  betray  and  blight  the 
work  of  weary  years.  She  knew  him  ;  he  would  do 
it  soon  or  late.  Meantime  there  was  the  letter.  She 
would  destroy  it  without  a  moment's  delay.  She 
rose,  and  pushing  back  her  hair,  glanced  at  herself 
in  the  mirror.  She  remembered  that  Harold  Moore 
was  to  dine  with  them,  and  someway,  somehow,  she 
must  make  of  that  white,  maddened  face  a  counte- 
nance that  could  calmly  meet  them  all  at  dinner ; 
but  first  let  her  destroy  the  letter.  She  put  her 
hand  in  her  pocket.  It  was  not  there.  Remember- 
ing the  hands  tightly  clasped  about  it  in  the  library, 
she  flew  down  the  wide  staircase.  No  one  was 
there.  Noises  sounded  from  Mrs.  Maitland's  room. 
"  Come  quickly,  auntie,"  called  Gretta.  "  Grand- 
mamma has  such  a  letter  from  Madge.  Debby 
picked  it  up  in  the  library.  The  man  must  have 
dropped  it  on  his  way  to  your  room  with  the  mail." 
They  were  all  much  agitated.  Mrs.  Maitland's  old 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.  Harold  Moore's  face  was 
as  white  as  on  that  night  when  Margaret  took  her- 
self away. 

327 


328  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  Go  back  to  the  first  word,  Theodore,  read  it 
all  out  once  more,  from  beginning  to  end.  I  want 
to  hear  it  once  more  myself,  and  I  want  Mrs.  Gray 
to  hear."  And  Katharine  had  to  sit  and  listen, 
wondering  if  the  stern  look  in  Theodore's  face 
meant  that  he  had  seen  that  letter  in  her  hand.  She 
could  not  guess  and  yet  she  must  sit  there  if  she 
died,  while  his  voice  read  over  again  all  the  tale 
that  brought  relief  to  their  hearts,  and  added  a  thou- 
sand-fold to  the  burden  of  her  own. 

It  was  a  singularly  subdued  and  quiet  party  that 
gathered  around  the  table  at  Wildholm  later  than 
usual  that  night.  Before  the  servants  no  one  wished 
to  speak  of  that  which  was  uppermost  in  every 
mind. 

"To  think  that  I  should  have  doubted  her,"  said 
Harold  to  Gretta,  taking  advantage  of  a  moment 
when  old  'Lijah  was  out  of  the  room. 

"  But  we  must  not  dwell  upon  that  now.  The 
only  thing  that  matters  at  present  is  that  we  find 
her  quickly.  How  soon  can  you  start,  Dr.  Moore  ?  " 

"  I  would  like  to  start  this  minute.  I  would 
start  to-night,  but  that  I  have  patients  who  are  crit- 
ically ill,  and  whom  I  cannot  leave  to  others.  I  sup- 
pose," he  said  inquiringly,  "  Theodore  would  not 

wish  to  leave  his  mother  or "  he  looked  at 

Gretta  and  hesitated. 

"Or  me,"  she  said  smiling.      "You  know  Dr. 

Moore,  we  meant  to  go  and  find  her,  and  bring  her 

back  to  you  before  that  letter  came.     It  was  to  be 

"  and  she  smiled  up  in  his  face  and  suddenly 

dropped  her  eyes. 

"  What !  your  wedding  journey  ? " 


KATHARINE   GRAY  329 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered. 

Theodore  had  taken  Mrs.  Gray  down  to  dinner. 
Mrs.  Maitland  feeling  too  fatigued  with  the  excite- 
ment and  emotion  of  the  afternoon,  had  preferred 
to  remain  in  her  room.  To  Theodore,  Katha- 
rine's silence  and  weary  white  face  were  no  sur- 
prise. The  other  two  chatted  on  quietly,  and  the 
ladies  soon  left  the  table,  followed  almost  imme- 
diately by  the  gentlemen. 

"  You  are    looking    so  white   and   weary,   Mrs.  * 
Gray,"  said  Dr.  Moore,  kindly.     "  You  have  never 
seemed  like  yourself   since  that   night  when  you 
fainted  in  the  church." 

"  I  am  quite  well  again,  nevertheless,"  said  Kath- 
arine, calmly.  "But  the  night  is  warm.  I  was 
just  thinking  of  asking  Theodore  to  take  me  into 
the  garden  a  few  moments  for  the  fresh  air." 

As  they  strolled  down  the  myrtle  walk,  Theodore 
halted  almost  unconsciously,  and  drew  her  to  a  seat 
under  the  very  tree  where  Gretta  had  spurred  her 
horse  and  bidden  him  "Come  on." 

"  There  was  something  you  wanted  to  say  to 
me  ?  "  he  said,  gently.  "  See  how  Providence  has 
favored  us.  We  wanted  to  bring  back  Margaret 
for  Harold.  We  wanted  to  bring  back  your  sister's 
child  for  you,  and  God  seems  to  have  sent  them 
both  to  us,  and  sent  them  both  in  one.  I  heard 
Harold  say  he  could  not  go  for  her.  I  know  you 
do  not  wish  any  time  to  be  lost.  I  believe  I  can 
trace  her  readily.  I  shall  find  her  with  Robert 
Gray,  and  as  I  send  to  him  every  month,  I  know 
just  where  to  look  for  him.  I  will  go  for  her  at 
once.  But  look  up,  dear  friend,"  he  said.  "  I  will 


330  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

go,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  go  alone.  Why  may  not 
Gretta  go  with  me  ? " 

"  Gretta,"  she  started  as  if  in  horror.  "  Gretta 
to  meet  Robert  Gray  ?  " 

"  No,  that  need  not  be,  necessarily.  I  can  easily 
keep  her  from  meeting  him  ;  and  surely  you  know 
that  I  would  spare  her  any  pain.  But  if  either  of 
these  girls  is  the  one  to  come  in  contact  with  this 
man,  it  should  not  be  the  one  who  has  already  borne 
so  much,  the  one  who  has  so  nobly  taken  up  the 
daughter's  hopeless  task.  We  must  think  of  what 
is  just  and  right  to  her.  He  is  not  Margaret's 
father.  Her  heart  has  always  told  her  that,  and  yet 
she  has  trained  her  heart,  noble  girl  that  she  is,  to 
do  what  she  thought  to  be  her  duty,  and  to  prac- 
tise an  affection  and  tenderness  that  she  could  not 
feel.  The  poor  girl  has  been  greatly  wronged,  and 
it  is  for  us  to  make  amends  and  without  a  moment's 
delay." 

"  Let  Gretta  go  ?  I  cannot,"  she  moaned,  piti- 
fully. "  I  cannot,  I  cannot  be  separated  from  her." 

"  But  surely  you  would  not  let  your  love  for  her 
stand  between  you  and  an  act  of  justice  to  your 
sister's  child  ?" 

Suddenly  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  standing  in 
the  path,  looked  down  upon  him  with  her  eyes 
blazing  with  excitement.  "  Justice  to  my  sister's 
child  does  not  require  it,"  she  said,  fiercely.  "  It 
is  enough  that  wreck  and  ruin  come  upon  myself. 
Why  need  they  touch  my  child  ?  Listen  to  me, 
Theodore.  Mrs.  Maitland  knows  the  story  of  this 
unfortunate  girl's  career.  She  does  not  know  that 
the  man  who  has  cursed  her  life  is  the  same  who 


KATHARINE   GRAY  331 

has  cursed  mine.  Why  need  she  know?  Her 
whole  heart  is  bound  up  in  Gretta." 

"  And  would  you  have  Gretta  keep  the  name  and 
the  fortune  and  the  love  that  belong  to  another 
child  ?  Would  you  let  her  live  a  life  that  you  know 
to  be  false,  unjust,  and  wrong?" 

"Listen,"  she  said,  seizing  his  arm.  "She  is 
utterly  innocent  and  utterly  ignorant  of  any  wrong. 
Let  her  alone.  You  and  I  only  know  that  Mar- 
garet Graham  is  Margaret  Wild.  You  and  I  only 
know  that  her  place  is  here,  as  the  daughter  in  this 
home,  as  the  heiress  of  all  this  wealth.  Why  dis- 
turb that  state  of  things  ?  Mrs.  Maitland  cannot 
linger  here  many  years.  Bring  Margaret  if  you 
will.  Let  her  marry  Harold  Moore,  and  by-and-by, 
when  Mrs.  Maitland  is  gone,  take  Gretta  away,  and 
leave  Harold  and  Margaret  if  you  like  in  this  home. 
And  since  you  have  means  enough  to  care  for 
Gretta,  let  Harold  and  Margaret  share  as  largely  as 
you  will  in  Mrs.  Maitland's  wealth.  Let  them 
spend  her  means  in  doing  the  good  that  she  would 
wish  to  have  done.  Margaret  will  not  be  defrauded. 
All  that  would  have  been  her  own  will  come  back 
to  her,  except  the  one  thing,  that,  if  you  give  to  her, 
you  do  it  at  the  risk  of  breaking  the  hearts  of  both 
Gretta  and  Mrs.  Maitland.  Gretta  would  know 
that  I  am  her  mother,  and  I  should  know  that  she 
did  not  love  me  as  a  child,  or  want  my  mother-love. 
Mrs.  Maitland  gives  the  love  of  kinship  to  Gretta. 
She  would  not  transfer  it  to  Margaret,  and  Mar- 
garet would  know  that  she  was  not  able  to  take  her 
own.  It  would  only  mean  misery  for  all." 

"  But  my  friend,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Theodore, 


333  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

seizing  both  her  hands,  and  drawing  her  close  to 
him,  and  looking  earnestly  into  her  face,  "you 
are  excited  ;  you  could  never  say  such  things  in 
your  senses.  Do  you  not  realize,  can  I  not  make 
you  understand,  that  all  you  plan  means  nothing 
when,  in  order  to  accomplish  it,  you  must  do  the 
thing  that  is  dishonorable  and  unjust  ?  What  hope 
have  we,  Gretta  and  I,  for  happiness  in  a  life  that 
held  a  shameful  deceit  and  wrong  like  that  ?  No, 
no,  the  way  of  peace  is  the  way  of  righteousness 
and  truth,  and  much  as  I  love  you,  much  as  I  love 
Gretta,  I  can  travel  with  you  by  no  other  road. 
There  has  been  a  wrong  done,  Mrs.  Gray.  Noth- 
ing matters  to  any  of  us  save  that  we  make  it  right. 
If,  as  you  say,  there  is  money  to  be  returned,  all  I 
have  is  yours.  Let  us  together  undo  as  speedily 
as  possible  all  that  never  should  have  been  done, 
and  then  take  together  whatever  is  the  result. 
What  does  it  matter  to  any  of  us  three,  where  or 
how  we  live  ?  But  to  be  upright,  to  be  just — that  is 
vital ;  that  is  imperative." 

While  he  talked  her  head  had  dropped  upon  her 
breast.  She  had  come  to  the  end.  Defeated,  dis- 
covered, all  her  life's  labor  come  to  naught.  And 
yet  in  that  hour  it  was  all  as  nothing  to  her  com- 
pared to  one  maddening  terror  that  Gretta,  her 
child,  should  know  she  was  her  mother,  and  should 
know  that  her  mother  was  too  vile  a  thing  for  her 
sweet  lips  ever  to  touch  again  with  even  a  good- 
night kiss. 

Theodore  watched  her.  There  swept  over  his 
soul  the  great  anguish  of  that  far-away  night  when 
she  fled  away  from  him  with  Gretta  in  her  arms, 


KATHARINE   GRAY  333 

and  he  knew  in  his  inmost  soul  that  she  was  un- 
worthy of  the  worship  of  his  childish  heart.  He 
had  scorned  himself  for  his  own  suspicions,  he  had 
fought  one  by  one  as  if  they  were  traitors  every 
thought  that  had  ever  risen  in  his  heart  against  her, 
and  he  had  loved  her,  been  faithful  to  her  through 
all.  But  now,  as  if  with  a  sudden  revelation  that 
could  not  be  gainsaid,  he  knew  her  for  what  she 
was.  With  a  sudden  flash  t>f  recollection  he  knew 
that  he  had  seen  that  letter  in  her  hands,  and  that 
she  knew  all  it  contained.  And  yet  this  was  the 
woman  on  whose  heart  had  been  cradled  the  head 
that  was  henceforth  to  find  its  resting-place  upon 
his  breast.  But  it  had  not  been  given  to  him  to 
mete  out  justice.  His  must  not  be  the  hand  that 
should  strike  the  light  and  gladness  out  of  Gretta's 
heart,  for  well  he  knew  how  straight  and  true  the 
higher  instincts  of  her  soul  would  lead  her  to  the 
falseness  and  shame  that  had  been  behind  her 
mother's  word  and  deed. 

As  these  feelings  stirred  him,  his  face  softened, 
and  .Katharine,  with  that  subtle  vividness  of  percep- 
tion that  was  able  to  follow  his  thoughts  as  if 
they  had  been  written  in  the  air,  felt  and  used  her 
advantage. 

"  Theodore  Burke,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  you  would 
see  righteousness  and  justice  done.  Believe  me,  if 
you  reveal  to  Mrs.  Maitland  or  to  Gretta  that  you 
know  anything  more  of  Margaret  or  of  me  than  they 
already  know,  you  are  doing  the  greatest  cruelty 
that  ever  was  conceived.  Three  hours  ago,  with 
my  hands  in  yours,  you  promised  me  on  your  honor 
never  to  permit  word  or  act  of  yours  to  hurt  me  in 


334  THE  TEMPTATION   OF 

the  eyes  of  my  own  child.  Whatever  came  you 
vowed  to  stand  by  me  in  it.  You  desire  to  guard 
my  honor.  You  cannot  ;  I  will  take  care  of  what 
is  left  of  it  myself."  And  her  lip  took  a  scornful 
curve.  "  Take  you  care  of  your  own  honor.  How 
much  of  it  will  be  left  when  you  have  betrayed  a 
woman  who  is  at  your  mercy,  and  been  false  to 
your  solemn  word  ? " 

"Stop,  stop,"  he  said.  "I  will  hear  no  more.  I 
can  guard  your  secret ;  I  can  leave  the  wrong  you 
are  doing  to  God  ;  I  can  free  this  poor  girl  from  the 
clutches  of  that  man  ;  I  can  see  that  out  of  my  own 
fortune  comes  to  her  even  more  than  could  have 
come  to  her  from  Mrs.  Maitland.  It  is  no  question 
of  what  I  shall  do,  I  am  only  daring  to  urge  you  to 
do  the  thing  that  is  just  and  right." 

"Wait  there,"  she  said,  huskily.  "All  that  could 
have  come  to  her  from  the  Wild  estate  shall  surely 
come  ;  but  in  my  way  and  in  my  time.  All  that  I 
have  ever  expended  from  that  which  would  have 
come  to  her  from  my  father,  wrong  as  it  was  that 
it  should  have  gone  to  her,  shall  come  back  to  Jier. 
Do  you  fancy  I  have  spent  it  for  myself  ?  I  have 
not.  I  have  lived  here,  it  is  true,  but  my  service 
has  more  than  paid  for  my  home,  and  nearly  all  of 
that  which  would  have  been  Margaret's  can  be 
gathered  for  her  again.  Besides,  I  am  not  old,  and 
what  is  lacking  may  yet  be  won.  I  swear  to  you, 
Theodore,  that  if  God  gives  me  life,  she  shall  not 
be  defrauded  of  one  penny ;  but  she  shall  wait  a 
little  longer  for  her  inheritance,  and  you  shall  not 
betray  me  to  my  child.  What  right  have  you  ? " 
she  went  on  angrily.  "  Is  it  not  a  family  matter  ? 


KATHARINE   GRAY  335 

and  who  has  made  you  the  judge  and  ruler  of  us 
all  ? " 

"  Stop,  stop,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  mean  that  in 
your  family  matters  I  have  no  right,  no  place — that 
I  may  not  dare,  loving  you  as  I  do,  loving  Gretta 
as  I  do,  even  to  protect  you  from  yourself  ?  " 

"I  mean,"  she  added,  fiercely,  "that  you  can 
betray  me  if  you  will,  but  the  day  you  show  my 
daughter  that  I  am  her  mother,  that  day  I  show 
you  what  a  mother's  influence  can  be,  and  no  power 
in  earth  or  heaven  shall  let  you  have  my  child.  She 
will  need  no  word  of  mine  to  keep  her  from  taking 
to  any  man  her  heritage  of  shame." 

He  rose  quietly.  Heretofore  his  face  had  shown 
a  bitter  battle  with  honor  and  pity  and  grief  and 
tenderness  ;  but  now  he  drew  himself  up  to  his 
full  height,  and  his  eyes  took  the  steely  look  that 
made  them  gleam  like  an  avenging  sword.  "  It  is 
enough,"  he  said.  "  You  have  chosen  to  threaten. 
I  did  not  need  to  listen  to  your  pleading.  I  did  not 
need  that  you  should  call  upon  the  pity  and  the 
love  my  heart  has  known  for  you,  or  the  pity  I  have 
too,  for  the  child  who  must  yet  know  what  it  is  to 
have  a  mother  like  this.  I  said  no  word  ;  I  had  no 
thought  of  betrayal.  I  only  urged  you  to  tell  the 
truth  yourself.  You  will  not  do  it,  but " — and  he 
bent  low  and  looked  straight  into  her  face,  and  went 
on  in  a  tone  so  low  and  intense  that  it  was  like  a 
death  warrant  to  her  courage  and  her  hope — "the 
truth  will  be  known  and  justice  will  be  done,  though 
I  may  never  open  my  lips  or  look  again  upon  the 
one  face  that  holds  the  world's  whole  joy  and  hope 
for  me." 


336  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

He  turned  away  from  her,  but  she  sprang  after 
him.  "  Oh,  stop,  Theodore,  let  me  beg  of  you,  let 
me  beseech  of  you  not  to  betray  me." 

"  Did  you  not  understand  me  ?  I  have  had  no 
thought  of  betraying  you,"  he  said,  as  he  turned 
bitterly  upon  her.  "  But  I  said  justice  will  be  done, 
and  so  it  will.  You  will  betray  yourself.  Already 
you  carry  in  your  face  that  which  stirs  a  question 
and  a  doubt.  Robert  Gray  is  alive.  My  mother 
is  alive.  You  need  not  fear  me.  I  shall  keep  my 
words  to  you.  My  lips  shall  never  breathe  to  any 
human  soul  that  which  could  make  you  to  your 
child  less  lovely  or  less  beloved  ;  but  I  implore  you, 
for  her  sake,  for  yours,  for  my  own,  to  tell  the  truth 
yourself,  to  make  the  rough  places  plain,  the  crooked 
paths  straight,  to  prepare  " — and  his  voice  sank  to 
a  solemn  whisper — "  the  way  of  the  Lord,  for  verily 
I  believe  that  he  comes  to  deal  with  your  life  and 
with  mine.  God  help  you,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden 
burst  of  pitying  tenderness  ;  "  God  help  you.  He 
meant  you  to  be  as  noble  a  woman  as,  in  spite  of 
you,  he  has  made  of  your  own  child." 

And  as  he  walked  away  she  turned  and  threw 
herself  upon  the  bench,  and  dropped  her  head  upon 
her  arms.  A  low,  shuddering  cry  of  unutterable 
anguish  broke  from  her  lips.  It  would  have  melted 
any  heart  to  hear  it,  but  the  strong  man  who  has- 
tened swiftly  away  from  her  did  not  hear  or  heed. 

Overswept  by  the  tide  of  his  own  indignation  and 
distress,  he  strode  forward,  almost  overthrowing 
Debby,  who,  rushing  down  the  steps  from  the  door 
of  the  conservatory,  staggered  straight  into  his 
arms. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  337 

"  Good  Lawd,  Marse  Conrad,  go  quick  !  Fetch 
Doctor  Harold  ;  he's  jest  visitin'  Miss  Marion  round 
de  front  porch." 

"  Stop  !  stop  !     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Miss  Gretta.  She's  daid  in  'mong  de  flowers 
dar.  She's  all  daid." 

"  Go  yourself,  Debby,  and  bring  Dr.  Moore  back 
with  you.  For  your  life  don't  let  Mrs.  Maitland  be 
excited.  Just  tell  the  doctor  that  I  want  to  speak 
with  him  a  moment,  at  once  ; "  and  away  she  went, 
her  teeth  chattering  and  her  eyes  shining  white 
against  the  darkness.  She  meant  to  do  just  as  sne 
was  told.  What  she  did  do  was  to  steal  up  softly 
behind  her  mistress  and  beckon  frantically  to  the 
doctor,  who  sat  in  his  old  place  on  the  steps. 

He  saw  Debby  and  raised  a  warning  finger  slowly. 
"Ah,  here's  Debby  come  to  carry  you  off  to  rest," 
he  said,  as  he  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  "  It  has  been 
an  exciting  day  for  all  of  us,"  and  he  kissed  Mrs. 
Maitland's  hand  reverently,  and  said  "  Good-night." 
One  stride  and  he  was  inside  the  window  drawing 
Debby  after  him  by  the  arm.  "  Where  ? "  he  whis- 
pered. 

"  Dar  in  the  conserbatory ;  she's  daid,"  she  began 
in  a  wailing  whisper,  but  he  was  already  gone. 

Theodore  had  lifted  her  from  the  seat  where 
Debby  found  her  in  the  swoon  that  was  indeed  like 
death. 

Katharine's  room  was  nearest.  They  took  her 
there.  Theodore  could  not  have  expressed  his  pain 
to  see  her,  as  like  a  little,  helpless  child,  with  life  all 
to  live  over  again,  they  put  her  back  into  her  moth- 
er's bed. 

w 


338  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

The  doctor  stayed  long,  worked  hard,  and  grew 
very  anxious.  Once  there  was  a  little  flutter  of  life 
and  the  eyes  opened,  and  looking  past  Theodore's 
face,  watching  with  anxious  terror,  past  the  doctor, 
she  saw  Katharine,  who  had  entered  silently  and 
stood  watching  in  the  shadows  like  a  mute  statue 
of  despair. 

"  Leave  her  to  me,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  cut 
the  air  like  an  icicle,  so  cold  and  low  and  controlled 
that  one  could  never  have  guessed  the  volcano  that 
burned  within.  "  She  has  fainted  before,  and  I 
know  what  to  do  for  her"  ;  and  she  came  swiftly 
forward  with  a  glance  that  would  have  swept  them 
both  from  the  room,  but  a  sharp  spasm,  as  of  pain, 
convulsed  the  poor  child's  face,  and  her  eyes  were* 
lifted  to  Theodore  with  helpless,  mute  appeal. 

"  Do  not  agitate  her,"  said  the  doctor,  anxiously ; 
but  he  was  too  late,  for  Katharine  bent  with  out- 
stretched hands  as  if  to  gather  the  girl  to  her  breast, 
when  with  a  shudder  of  horror,  Gretta  drew  herself 
back,  and  turning  her  face  away,  sank  senseless  on 
the  pillows. 

"  Go  out  of  the  room,  Mrs.  Gray,  I  beg  of  you," 
said  Harold.  "  I  will  not  be  responsible  if  she  sees 
you.  Leave  me  with  Debby  "  •  and  both  of  those 
who  loved  her  most  shrank  powerless  backward  be- 
yond the  drapery  of  the  door,  and  waited  in  the  hall. 

"  Men  talk  of  sparing  and  protecting  women," 
said  Katharine,  in  a  fierce  whisper ;  "  this  is  the  way 
they  do  it.  I  told  you  it  would  kill  her  to  know, 
and  before  I  could  get  to  her  side  you  have  told 
her." 

"  I  have  told  her  nothing,"  he  answered,  gently. 


KATHARINE  GRAY  339 

"  I  did  not  see  her  till  Debby  told  me  she  had 
fallen  in  a  swoon." 

"Where?"  she  asked,  sharply. 

"  In  the  conservatory.  Dr.  Moore  was  with  her 
when  we  went  out.  Mrs.  Maitland  sent  for  him.  I 
suppose  she  went  to  walk  or  rest  among  the  flow- 
ers, and  it  proved  too  warm  tor  her,"  he  added, 
soothingly,  for  Katharine's  face  was  so  white  and 
anguished,  and  her  hands,  which  she  vainly  tried  to 
keep  quiet,  made  the  chair  tremble  by  which  she 
held. 

Indignant  as  he  was,  he  pitied  her.  "  Do  not  be 
frightened,"  he  said,  putting  his  arms  about  her  to 
lead  her  to  the  wide  window-seat  from  which  one 
night  she  had  watched  the  window  of  his  mother's 
room;  but  she  drew  away  from  him,  and  throwing 
herself  upon  the  couch,  burst  forth  in  such  a  tem- 
pest of  sobs  and  tears  as  never  once  in  all  his  life 
had  it  been  his  fate  to  see. 

"Frightened.  I  am  not  frightened,"  she  said. 
"  She  will  not  die,  but,  oh,  Theodore,"  she  added, 
with  a  pitiful  little  moan,  "  did  you  not  see  that  she 
turned  away  from  me  ?  She  would  not  let  me  touch 
her.  She  will  never  come  back  to  me."  She  paused 
suddenly,  and  then  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  as  if 
she  had  forgotten  her  anger,  she  whispered,  "  If  I 
could  take  her  in  my  arms,  and  go  out  into  the 
world  alone,  and  leave  home,  and  name,  and  friends, 
and  all,  and  work  for  her  until  I  died,  and  she  would 
love  me,  I  would  stand  up  and  tell  all  the  world  of 
all,"  the  whisper  sank  lower,  "all  that  it  does  not 
know;  but  she  would  turn  from  me,  she  would  not 
touch  me.  Ah,  God,  I  have  lost  my  little  child." 


340  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  I  think  she  is  conscious  again,"  said  Harold, 
stepping  swiftly  to  Mrs.  Gray's  side;  "but  she  seems 
delirious.  Do  not  sob  so,  Mrs.  Gray,"  he  said,  pity- 
ingly. "She  will  soon  be  better,  and  your  voice 
seemed  to  disturb  her.  Tell  me,  has  she  had  any 
shock,  any  excitement,  more  than  Miss  Graham's 
letter  gave  to  us  all  ?  " 

"  I  know  of  none,"  said  Katharine,  yet  gazing  at 
Theodore  with  suspicious  eyes.  Could  he  have  told 
her  ?  If  not,  why  did  she  turn  away  ?  Yet  she 
knew  he  did  not  tell.  If  all  other  things  crumbled 
beneath  her  feet,  her  belief  in  his  honor  and  truth 
could  not  be  shaken.  He  might  be  angry  with  her, 
despise  her,  put  out  no  hand  to  stay  the  sword  that 
overhung  her,  but  if  he  said  he  had  not  spoken  or 
would  not  speak,  she  knew  she  could  believe  him. 
All  this  went  like  a  flash  through  her  mind  as  she 
repeated,  "  I  know  of  nothing,  nor  does  Mr.  Conrad. 
Neither  of  us  saw  her  after  dinner  until  she  was 
unconscious." 

"  It  is  the  beginning  of  an  illness,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  fear  of  a  serious  character.  She  must  have 
absolute  quiet,  and  only  those  about  her  who  can 
control  all  agitation.  Evidently  your  distress  dis- 
turbed her,"  he  said,  turning  to  Katharine  ;  "  and 
you  must  go  home  to  the  little  mother,  Conrad. 
Poor  Debby  is  shaking  with  fright — and  Mrs.  Mait- 
land  must  not  know. 

"I  shall  stay  here,"  he  went  on,  "and  if  Mrs. 
Gray's  distress  can  be  so  hidden  that  Gretta  does 
not  perceive  it,  she  shall  be  with  me ;  but  you 
should  come  back  and  be  here  just  at  hand, 
Theodore,  and  I  think  perhaps  you  would  better 


KATHARINE   GRAY  341 

bring  the  little  mother  with  you.  There  is  no  pres- 
ence in  the  sick-room  better  than  hers.  She  is 
so  healthy  in  body,  so  tender  and  sympathetic, 
and  yet  so  unshaken,  we  can  rely  upon  her  if  Mrs. 
Gray's  nerves  fail  us." 

"  I  shall  not  fail,"  said  Katharine,  controlling 
every  trace  of  her  recent  agitation.  "  I  shall  not 
fail  again."  Secure  in  the  belief  of  Gretta's  ig- 
norance of  the  truth,  the  mother's  love  and  anxiety 
reasserted  itself,  and  she  begged  Harold  to  let  her 
go  back. 

"  I  will  keep  in  the  shadow,  and  when  she  sees 
me  again,  if  it  troubles  her  I  will  come  away." 
Then  all  together  they  softly  stole  back  to  the  room 
where  Debby  was  trying  vainly  to  bathe  the  burn- 
ing, restless  hands.  The  girl  was  conscious,  but 
delirious,  and  in  her  incoherent  mutterings  of  that 
long  night  talked  of  Theodore  and  grandmamma 
and  Debby  and  Margaret,  but  never  once,  though 
Katharine's  strained  ears  listened  for  it  as  the 
condemned  might  listen  for  the  news  of  a  reprieve, 
did  the  sick  girl  speak  her  name.  And  when  she 
saw  her,  there  was  the  same  shuddering  cry,  the 
same  shrinking  from  a  touch  or  kiss  that  had 
broken  the  mother's  heart.  Little  by  little  she 
yielded  to  the  girl's  evident  distress  at  sight  of 
her,  and  while  she  was  always  present  and  always 
watching,  it  was  from  behind  the  curtain  or  the 
screen. 

The  "little  mother,"  as  they  all  called  her 
now,  had  slipped  quite  naturally  into  all  loving 
ministry  in  the  sick-room.  Gretta  yielded  to  her 
gentle  care  like  a  tired  babe  trusting  to  a  nurse 


342  THE  TEMPTATION 

who  could  quiet  her  to  sleep  when  no  one  else 
could  soothe.  The  old  woman  knew  perfectly 
well  that  the  stately  pallid  lady  who  always  spoke 
gently  to  her,  was  the  idol  of  those  early  days  in 
Chicago,  and  quite  free  from  the  agitation  that 
Katharine's  presence  once  caused,  her  old  heart 
rested  in  sweet  content  in  her  kindness,  and  she 
was  at  home  and  happy  in  nursing  Gretta,  as  if 
there  had  never  been  an  interruption  in  her  care. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AS  day  succeeded  day  and  the  first  terror  settled 
into  the  certainty  of  brain  fever,  all  life  for 
the  whole  sad  household  vibrated  with  hope  or  fear 
according  to  the  news  that  came  from  the  sufferer. 
Day  or  night  Katharine  never  left  her.  Mrs.  Mait- 
land's  chair  was  wheeled  to  the  great  hall  window, 
and  Deb  by,  broken-hearted,  stayed  close  at  her  side 
or  haunted  the  door  of  the  sick-room,  rejoicing 
when  the  little  mother  was  forced  to  rest  and  she 
could  take  her  place.  Just  outside  the  heavy  cur- 
tains that  swung  before  the  door  sat  Theodore,  wait- 
ing to  serve  if  need  arose,  and  watching  constantly 
from  his  shadowed  place  every  flitting  shade  of 
peace  or  pain  that  overswept  the  precious  face. 

His  "little  mother,"  glad  as  she  was  to  be  there, 
needed  much  tenderness  and  rest,  and  he  gave  her 
both,  taking  her  into  the  garden  for  fresh  air,  or  to 
the  conservatory,  or  sitting  beside  her  talking  to 
her  of  old  times  till  she  slept,  and  then  stealing 
back  to  watch,  and  wait  and  pray.  And  through  it 
all  Katharine  went  in  and  out,  her  face  hard  and 
cold  as  ice,  under  the  strain  of  her  effort  to  control 
her  grief. 

But  she  did  control  it,  never  once  giving  way 
after  that  first  night,  never  seeming  to  know  fa- 
tigue or  to  need  slumber.  All  life  for  her  had  nar- 
rowed to  that  one  room.  To  be  there,  to  do  with 

343 


344  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

her  own. hands  all  that  could  be  done,  to  let  Mrs. 
Burke  or  Debby  take  her  place  when  she  saw  the 
dear  eyes  close  as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  her 
face,  this  was  all  that  was  left  of  a  world  that  held 
so  much  for  her  only  a  week  ago. 

When  forced  to  meet  the  others,  she  asked  no 
sympathy,  and  as  far  as  coldly  gentle  words  could 
comfort,  tried  to  comfort  Mrs.  Maitland.  As  for 
Theodore  she  rarely  looked  his  way.  She  could 
not  bear  that  one  who  knew  the  fierceness  of  her 
struggle,  and  perhaps  the  greatness  of  her  sin, 
should  see  her  humiliation  and  defeat.  Besides, 
there  was  something  in  his  very  presence  that 
seemed  to  claim  a  share  in  Gretta's  heart,  and  now, 
at  last,  whether  Gretta  knew  her  or  loved  her  or 
not,  she  was  determined  to  have  her  all  to  herself. 

And  thus  they  moved  on  to  that  awful  day 
when,  down  in  the  library,  the  physicians  met  once 
more — for  Harold,  who  had  never  allowed  any  but 
most  exacting  duties  to  keep  him  from  Gretta,  had 
from  the  first  called  to  his  aid  the  skill  of  other 
specialists  and  the  experience  of  older  practitioners. 

Katharine  had  kept  behind  the  curtains  while 
they  lingered  by  the'  bedside  and  watched  their 
faces  as  they  watched  her  child,  and  she  knew, 
when  they  left  the  room,  as  well  as  she  would  when 
Harold  should  creep  back  after  they  were  gone  and 
whisper  their  words  to  her,  that  they  could  not  save 
her  child.  She  knew  when  Mrs.  Maitland's  chair 
was  wheeled  softly  nearer  the  door  and  Theodore 
held  the  curtain  aside,  that  the  stricken  old  heart 
was  taking  its  last  farewell.  She  saw  Theodore 
creep  softly  in  and  stand  and  gaze  as  if  he  would 


KATHARINE   GRAY        •  345 

gather  her  up  and  hide  her  in  his  inmost  heart, 
and  she  knew  that  he  came  now  lest  later  they 
would  not  let  him  come.  She  knew  all  when  she 
felt  the  wheels  of  the  carriage  that  took  the  physi- 
cians away  crunching  and  grinding  her  heart,  and 
when  Harold  stole  softly  back,  had  no  need  to  hear 
him  say,  "  They  fear  there  is  nothing  more  that  we 
can  do."  She  knew  it  all  before.  She  heard,  but 
it  was  like  a  distant  voice  coming  over  the  sea  of 
beating  waves,  when  Mrs.  Maitland  answered,  "  I 
am  not  going  to  rest  in  their  judgment.  I  am  go- 
ing to  hope.  You  remember  the  text  she  always 
loved,  '  The  Lord  thy  God  in  the  midst  of  thee  is 
mighty '  ;  he  is  in  our  midst,  in  her  heart,  and  in 
each  one  of  our  hearts,  and  he  is  mighty.  He  can 
and  I  believe  will  save.  It  shall  be  according  to  his 
word."  "Amen,"  said  Theodore,  fervently;  but 
Katharine  never  moved  or  spoke,  she  only  wondered 
vaguely  when  they  would  have  done  and  said  all 
they  wished  and  would  go  and  leave  her  with  her 
child. 

And  as  the  night  moved  toward  midnight,  Theo- 
dore— who  knew  her  heart's  desire  by  the  longing  in 
his  own,  who  would  have  given  years  of  his  life  to 
gather  Gretta  in  his  arms  and  alone  in  the  silence 
and  the  shadows,  hold  her  till  the  new  dawn  broke 
upon  her  eyes — persuaded  Mrs.  Maitland  to  go  to 
her  room.  Then  he  took  the  "little  mother"  to 
her  rest  and  sat  by  her  till  she  slept.  Then  whis- 
pering to  Katharine  that  he  would  be  outside  and 
that  she  had  only  to  speak  and  he  would  come,  he 
went  out  softly  and  closed  the  door.  She  opened  it 
swiftly  and  taking  him  by  the  arm  drew  him  within. 


346  THE  TEMPTATION   OP 

Gretta  was  moaning  and  muttering  in  her  troubled 
sleep. 

"  Teddy,"  she  said,  brokenly,  "  you  remember  I 
said  she  should  never  belong  to  you.  I  was  wrong. 
She  did  and  she  does." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  softly  ;  "she  does  and  she 
will  in  that  other  home — where  God  is  in  the  midst 
of  his  people,  where,"  he  added,  very  gently,  "  his 
servants  shall  serve  him  and  his  name  shall  be  writ- 
ten on  their  foreheads,  where  there  shall  be  no  more 
pain.  See  how  utterly  at  peace  she  looks.  His 
name  has  always  been  written  in  her  forehead,  has 
it  not  ?  She  belongs  to  God — I  can  wait — I  shall 
find  her  once  more.  But  now,"  he  added,  "she 
belongs  to  you,  you  only.  One  would  be  cruel  to 
take  her  from  you  for  one  moment,"  and  before  she 
could  answer  or  detain  him  he  was  gone. 

The  door  was  shut,  the  light  burned  low,  the 
firelight  sent  strange  flickering  shadows  over  the 
pallid  face.  Gretta  was  going  away  where  not  she 
but  Theodore  would  find  her  again.  He  did  find 
her  once  before,  and  she  took  her  treasure  from 
him  and  fled.  She  did  not  care  whether  his  little 
heart  broke  or  not.  Now  when  he  found  her  in  that 
other  land,  would  he  bring  her  to  her,  or  would  he 
keep  her  for  himself  ?  She  could  not  think.  She 
could  only  watch  the  white  face  and  suffer,  suffer 
God  only  knew  how  much.  God  !  Did  he  care  ? 
They  called  him  pitiful.  Why  should  he  care  or  be 
pitiful  to  her  ?  She  had  not  cared.  She  had  not 
been  pitiful  to  any  one,  not  even  to  her  sister's  lit- 
tle helpless  babe,  not  even  to  loving  old  Debby, 
who  had  tried  so  faithfully  to  show  her  that  love 


KATHARINE  GRAY  347 

could  conquer ;  not  to  the  "little  mother  "  and  never 
once,  even  in  his  childhood,  had  she  been  pitiful  to 
Ted.  Ah  !  if  it  should  be  true  that  God  was  piti- 
ful as  well  as  "  mighty,"  might  it  not  be  that  it  was 
his  loving  kindness — to  Gretta,  not  to  herself, — he 
must  of  course  hate  and  despise  her, — but  his  love 
for  Gretta  that  had  held  back  her  own  punishment 
all  these  years,  kept  the  sword  from  falling  because 
Gretta  was  his  own,  and  if  the  sword  fell,  must 
have  felt  the  hurt.  If  it  was  true  that  all  this  time 
he  had  waited  to  let  Gretta  have  joy  and  comfort 
in  her  life  then  surely  he  must  be  good,  so  good,  so 
pitiful,  so  kind. 

And  now  if  Gretta  lived,  shame  and  pain  must 
inevitably  come  to  her.  The  shadow  of  her  moth- 
er's sin  and  the  shame  of  her  penalty  must  fall 
upon  her  too.  So  he  had  shown  loving  kindness 
again  in  taking  her  where  she  could  not  suffer  if 
her  mother  were  disgraced.  He  had  shown  love 
for  Gretta  then  and  that  love,  greater  far  than  her 
own,  was  saving  her  daughter  now  from  the  effects 
of  that  mother-love  which  she,  in  her  mad  selfish- 
ness and  vanity,  had  thought  so  great.  She  was 
dying  that  he  might  save  her  from  her  mother.  As 
the  deep  consciousness  of  this  truth  stole  into  her 
heart,  hardened  as  it  was,  she  bowed  her  head  and 
through  her  sobs  broke  the  first  genuine  prayer  her 
lips  had  prayed  for  many  and  many  a  year.  "  Yes, 
Lord  God,  in  the  midst  of  human  lives  and  hearts 
thou  art  mighty.  I  love  thee  for  sparing  to  my 
child  the  knowledge  of  my  sin.  I  have  not  been 
worthy  to  keep  her !  I  will  not  try  any  more  to 
hold  her — thou  lovest  her.  I  give  it  all  up — the 


348  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

mad  struggle  to  keep  her  for  myself !  I  give  her 
up  to  thee,  and  take  from  thee  the  shame  and  bur- 
den of  my  sin.  Because  thou  hast  loved  her  I  give 
her  up  to  thee." 

And  while  she  waited  and  prayed  with  her  face 
buried  in  Gretta's  pillow  as  close  as  she  could  lie 
and  not  distress  the  sick  one,  a  strange  thing  hap- 
pened. The  tones  of  her  low  murmuring  voice  in 
words  of  prayer  seemed  to  quiet  the  restless  head 
and  hands.  The  girl  lay  quite  still.  Then  the  eyes 
opened  and  looked  steadily  into  Katharine's,  bright 
with  consciousness,  sweet  with  recollection.  Her 
child,  her  little  child,  she  knew  her,  and  she  did  not 
turn  away.  She  only  looked  long  and  searchingly 
into  the  eyes  that  gazed  down  upon  her,  heavy  with 
their  weight  of  unshed  tears. 

"Mother,  mother,"  she  whispered,  "I  am  your 
own  little  girl." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  own,  my  own  !  "  she  answered, 
gathering  up  the  girl  so  softly  that  no  breath  or 
movement  seemed  to  stir  the  silence,  and,  joy  of 
joys,  she  did  not  shrink  but  nestled  close  and  lifted 
the  face  a  little  for  the  kisses  that  fell  on  cheek 
and  brow  and  lip. 

"  I  love  you,"  whispered  Gretta.  "  Mother, 
mother,"  she  repeated,  in  a  whisper,  but  with  lips 
that  lingered  and  seemed  to  love  the  word. 

"  I  have  been  a  wicked  mother  " — for,  verily,  if 
this  was  the  lucid  interval  that  comes  before  the 
end,  she  must  speak — "I  have  sinned." 

"  I  know — I  went  down  to  the  garden  to  find 
you  and  Theodore  that  night ;  I  was  too  frightened 
to  go  away — I  heard  every  word." 


KATHARINE   GRAY  349 

"  And  you  do  not  hate  me  ?  " 

"  Hate  you  ?  I  love  you,  love  you,"  the  voice 
died  away  to  a  sigh,  but  its  utterance  was  love. 

"  But  I  did  wrong,  always,  all  wrong,  always, 
in  everything." 

As  if  with  one  supreme  last  effort  the  drooping 
lids  lifted,  the  fluttering  hands,  never  still  these 
many  days  and  nights,  tried  to  reach  the  cheeks 
down  which  hot  tears  were  falling. 

"  My  whole  life  was  all  a  sin,"  she  repeated,  in  a 
passion  of  confession. 

"  I  know,  I  know,  God  was  not  in  the  midst  of 
it,  that  was  all.  But  you  will  make  all  the  wrong 
right  again — you  and  Theodore." 

Ah,  there  was  Theodore — even  now  at  this  mo- 
ment must  the  thought  of  him  intrude ! 

Swift  and  horrible,  as  if  all  evil  spirits  had  ral- 
lied at  sight  of  her  relenting,  and  were  maddened  at 
sound  of  her  confession,  a  fierce  jealousy  of  Theo- 
dore took  possession  of  her  soul.  But  for  him 
Gretta  need  not  have  known,  need  not  have  died. 
If  he  had  kept  out  of  their  lives  all  this  anguish 
would  not  have  come.  She  heard  the  door  move 
gently,  and  there  he  was,  coming  softly  to  her  side. 
Her  eyes  blazed  under  her  drooped  lids,  like  those 
of  a  wild  beast  about  to  be  robbed  of  her  young, 
and  she  pressed  the  girl  closer  to  her  heart.  Gretta 
opened  her  eyes.  One  long  look  into  the  tender, 
manly  face  bending  over  her,  so  white  and  still  in 
its  anguish,  and  she  smiled.  Her  hands  that  had 
fluttered  like  rose  leaves  in  the  wind'  sought  his, 
and  when  he  held  them  in  his  broad,  warm  palm, 
the  pleading  eyes  sought  her  mother's  face. 


35O  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

Did  she  want  to  go  away  ?  Did  she  turn  after 
all  from  mother-heart  to  his  ?  Had  she  won  her 
back  only  to  give  her  dying  love  to  him  ?  The 
child's  eyes  pleaded. 

It  was  the  supreme  moment  of  her  life-conflict, 
and  bitter,  bitter  as  death  ;  but  God  had  been  piti- 
ful to  Gretta  in  the  past,  and  he  had  been  pitiful 
to  her,  for  he  had  made  her  know  that  wicked  as 
she  was,  there  was  yet  love  in  the  world  for  her. 
Gretta  loved  her,  even  if  she  loved  Theodore  more. 
Gretta  loved  her,  and  with  such  a  look  of  triumph 
over  the  supreme  anguish  as  Theodore  never  for- 
got, she  drew  herself  up  and  laid  the  sick  girl  in 
his  arms.  "  No,  no,"  he  whispered.  "  Hush,"  she 
answered,  softly,  "  I  have  given  her  up — forever." 

She  turned  to  the  window  and  left  them  alone. 
Outside,  the  moon  was  riding  serenely  in  the 
heavens ;  the  paths  stretched  white  and  shining 
away  into  the  gloom,  and  across  them  the  shadows 
of  the  swaying  branches  swung,  and  the  light  fall- 
ing through  the  trees  made  the  ground  an  ar- 
abesque of  drifting  light  and  shade ;  the  sky  was 
mottled  with  just  such  white  feathery  clouds,  as — 
yes,  she  remembered  now — as  she  had  seen  that  day 
when  she  waited  in  the  shadow  of  an  ivy-covered 
church  for  Teddy  to  give  her  back  her  child.  With 
lightning  vividness  she  saw  his  face  as  she  has- 
tened away  from  him.  "  Poor  little  Ted,"  she 
thought ;  yet,  late  as  it  was,  she  had  made  atone- 
ment. She  had  given  her  back  to  him  now. 

A  little,  troubled,  murmuring  voice  broke  through 
her  thoughts.  In  an  instant  she  was  by  the  bed  to 
see  the  hands  upraised  to  her,  to  hear  the  feeble 


KATHARINE   GRAY  351 

voice  call,  "Mother,  mother."  She  bent  over  her. 
"  Take  me,  mother,  kiss  me ;  I  love  you ;  I  want 
you  to  hold  me  a  long,  long  time." 

She  smiled  on  Theodore  as  he  laid  her  in  her 
mother's  arms,  and  almost  before  he  turned  away 
her  eyelids  drooped.  Together  they  waited  and 
watched  for  the  fluttering  breath  to  cease ;  but  it 
only  rose  and  fell  more  evenly  and  quietly  than 
before.  Over  the  face  crept  a  look  of  comfort  and 
repose.  The  mother's  eyes  sought  Theodore's. 
Could  it  be  that  penitence  and  love  and  heart's 
content  had  brought  the  slumber  that  science  and 
care  had  not  been  able  to  bring  ?  Theodore  had 
lifted  Gretta's  hand  and  placed  it  in  her  mother's. 
Now  he  took  both  in  his  warm  clasp  and  answered 
the  question  with  a  rush  of  tears  that  he  did  not 
try  to  hide.  In  both  their  souls  the  dreaded  death- 
angel  had  given  place  to  the  angel  of  hope. 

Harold  came  in  on  tiptoe — Katharine's  finger 
was  laid  to  her  lip.  Gretta  was  quietly  sleeping. 
"  It  is  her  salvation  to  sleep  on  and  on,"  he  whis- 
pered to  Theodore,  when  they  had  stolen  outside 
the  door.  "  She  must  not  be  even  moved  unless 
Mrs.  Gray  can  no  longer  bear  the  strain." 

And  the  night  crept  on  to  morning,  and  the 
morning  dawn  changed  to  the  fullness  of  day. 
The  birds  sang,  the  bees  hummed  in  the  honey- 
suckle, the  yellow  sunlight  flooded  all  around,  and 
still  the  sufferer  slept. 

Theodore  came  softly  in  now  and  then,  asking 
with  his  eyes  if  he  might  relieve  her,  but  Katha- 
rine would  not  risk  a  movement.  Sometimes  her 
fears  grew  to  anguish  lest  in  her  weakness,  Gretta 


352  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

should  sleep  her  life  away.  Again  hope  stirred  as 
she  saw  the  wan,  white  face  look  natural  and  sweet, 
yet  through  hope  and  fear  she  ran  on  and  on,  as  if 
she  were  reading  from  a  book,  leaf  after  leaf  of  which 
was  turned  by  an  unseen  hand,  the  story  of  her 
life,  with  all  its  awful  error  and  its  unrequited  sin. 
And  when  Gretta  awoke  and  knew  them  all,  though 
too  weak  for  anything  but  to  smile  and  sleep  again, 
and  the  doctors  came  and  declared  the  awful  crisis 
past,  the  thrill  of  a  great  gratitude  to  God  ran  from 
heart  to  heart  throughout  the  silent  house. 

Katharine  left  her  daughter  in  Debby's  care, 
with  Theodore  to  watch,  and  went  away  to  Gretta's 
room  to  rest.  There  was  everything  just  as  the 
girl  had  left  it,  and  on  the  table  her  open  Bible  and 
the  little  book  of  devotions,  "The  Words  and 
Mind  of  Jesus."  Involuntarily  Katharine  looked 
at  the  Bible.  It  was  the  story  of  the  Prodigal 
Son,  and  through  blinding  tears  she  read,  "  When 
he  was  yet  a  great  way  off,  his  father  saw  him  .  .  . 
and  fell  on  his  neck  and  kissed  him."  O  God!  It 
was  such  a  long  way  back.  After  one  had  retraced 
all  one's  steps  ;  gone  over  all  the  way ;  undoing, 
restoring,  making  the  wrong  right,  the  crooked 
straight,  the  rough  places  plain ;  she  could  under- 
stand that  at  the  end  there  might  be  pardon  and 
love;  but  to  be  loved  while  "a  great  way  off," 
to  be  held  close  to  the  great  Father-heart  and 
forgiven  and  kissed  while  "  a  great  way  off  " — this 
was  not  for  such  as  she  had  been.  For  her  it 
ought  to  be  enough  that  she  knew  her  way  back, 
knew  what  the  "making  it  right"  that  she  had 
promised  Gretta  meant.  It  looked  a  long  and 


KATHARINE   GRAY  353 

weary  and  lonely  journey,  but  she  had  taken  the 
first  step,  she  had  given  Gretta  up,  and,  thank  God, 
there  was  even  for  her  as  she  struggled  on,  a 
lamp  to  her  feet  and  a  light  to  her  path,  in  this 
Book  that  Gretta  loved.  To  its  guidance  and  in- 
struction, if  not  to  its  promise  and  its  peace,  she 
surely  had  a  claim.  This  first  inward  step  was  all 
she  could  take  now  while  Gretta  was  so  ill,  but  by- 
and-by  she  would  go  back  over  all  the  way,  atoning 
and  returning  everything,  four-fold,  even  as  the 
Book  said  was  right  for  her  to  do. 

So  the  day  wore  on  toward  evening,  and  Mrs. 
Maitland  began  to  be  troubled  about  her  lest  she 
should  be  ill.  The  old  lady  had  had  her  chair 
moved  for  an  hour  to  its  old  place  on  the  veranda. 
Harold  was  beside  her,  glad  of  an  opportunity  to 
note  the  effect  of  the  prolonged  anxiety.  On  the 
other  side  sat  Theodore,  and  the  little  mother 
watched  by  Gretta,  who,  like  a  baby,  was  fed  and 
sank  again  to  sleep. 

"  Do  not  go,  doctor,  till  I  know  if  Mrs.  Gray 
needs  you.  If  she  does  not,  then  all  our  knowl- 
edge as  to  the  limits  of  human  endurance  fails. 
She  has  taken  neither  food  nor  rest  and  ought  to 
sleep  a  week." 

"  I  reckon  she  done  ben  converted,  Miss  Marion," 
broke  in  Debby,  her  palsied  head  shaking  with  em- 
phasis. "  She's  up  dar  in  Miss  Gretta's  room  on 
de  sofa  huggin'  up  Miss  Gretta's  open  Bible  right 
in  her  neck  jest  like  she  been  huggin'  dat  sweet 
chile's  hair.  Fo'  de  Lawd,  I  do  b'leve  she  done  got 
religion." 

"  Stop,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  sharply.     "  Debby, 


354  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

I  wish  you  and  I  were  half  as  good  as  Mrs. 
Gray." 

"  She's  good,  sho  'miff,  she  mighty  good ;  and  so 
we  all  orter  be  when  de  Lawd  sen'  down  his  bressed 
angels  to  live  right  under  our  noses  in  de  house  all 
day  long.  Tears  like  havin'  de  dear  Lawd  himself 
right  in  de  nex'  room  to  have  dat  sick,  patient  chile." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  "  that  is  one  of 
his  own  ways  of  dwelling  in  our  midst,  by  dwelling 
in  the  hearts  that  love  him,  and  showing  his  love- 
liness through  their  own." 

"  He's  been  here,  sho  'nuff.  He  sees  we's  old, 
Miss  Marion  and  me.  He  couldn't  take  Gretta 
away  when  he  see  how  much  we  love  her.  He  jest 
couldn't." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  the  doctor  saved  her  ? " 
asked  Harold,  playfully. 

"  Yes,  de  doctor  and  lovin'  and  prayin'.  No,  lev- 
in' and  prayin'  and  de  doctor;  las',  but  not  leas',  de 
doctor." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

A  BSORBING  as  Gretta's  illness  had  been,  it 
JL\.  did  not  shut  Margaret  or  her  letter  out  of 
mind.  It  kept  both  Theodore  and  Harold  from 
seeking  her  in  person,  but  remonstrance  and  plead- 
ing went  to  her  by  mail  from  every  one,  even  from 
Katharine  herself.  Mrs.  Maitland  kindly  pointed 
out  her  exaggerated  and  mistaken  sense  of  duty 
and  begged  her,  if  she  had  found  her  father,  touring 
him  back  and  allow  them  all  to  help  her  in  her  care 
of  him,  offering  him  quiet  rooms  in  the  west  wing. 
Theodore  wrote  her,  unknown  to  Harold,  and  yet 
in  Harold's  behalf,  and,  after  the  crisis  had  passed, 
and  they  were  all  assured  of  Gretta's  recovery, 
Katharine  wrote,  urging  that  she  come  back  for 
Gretta's  sake,  though  neither  she  nor  Theodore  told 
her  the  story  that  both  knew  must  soon  be  told. 
Harold  himself  wrote  that  home  and  her  own  place 
were  here,  and  that  he  was  coming  speedily  to 
bring  her  back.  And  to  all  these  there  came  in  re- 
turn only  the  cry  of  her  heart's  sorrow  and  long- 
ing to  be  with  Gretta  in  this  time  of  weakness  and 
pain.  And  all  this  time  Katharine  was  making 
ready  for  what  she  called  "  the  first  stage  of  her 
journey  home." 

During  all  the  slow  convalescence,  there  had 
been  no  sign  or  look  or  word  from  Gretta  or  from 
Theodore,  that  showed  they  remembered  the  tem- 

355 


356  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

pest  of  shame  and  distress  through  which  they  had 
passed  with  Katharine.  All  was  the  same  in  their 
manner  except  that  they  daily  broke  her  heart  anew 
with  their  gentleness,  treaiing  her,  whenever  alone 
with  her,  like  the  mother  to  be  trusted  and  coun- 
seled with  and  loved.  If  they  carried  a  new  bur- 
den they  kept  it  out  of  sight.  Indeed,  for  Gretta 
the  new  attitude  seemed  to  afford  an  outlet  for  a 
natural  loving  tenderness  which  showed  toward  all 
her  friends,  but  which  in  her  mother's  case  had 
always  been  held  back  and  restrained.  They  two 
never  talked  of  the  revelations  of  the  sick-room, 
but  lying  awake  in  the  still,  sad  nights,  often  and 
often  the  mother's  listening,  waiting  heart  heard 
Gretta  coming  softly  from  her  room,  and  without  a 
word  she  would  take  her  in  her  arms  and  hold  and 
soothe  her  till  she  slept.  Once  Gretta,  coming 
softly  in  the  darkness,  surprised  her  mother  kneel- 
ing in  the  dark  by  the  bedside,  and  after  that, 
though  neither  said  a  word,  the  two  knelt  side  by 
side — always  in  the  dark  and  always  silent,  save  to 
God,  who  knew  what  each  endured. 

Outwardly  Katharine  was  unchanged,  save  for  a 
sadder,  whiter  face,  a  lowered  voice,  and  a  more 
resolute  devotion  to  Mrs.  Maitland,  and  especially 
to  the  "  friends,"  as  the  old  lady  always  called 
them,  who  dwelt  in  the  bright  west  wing.  In 
the  old  time  that  seemed  so  far  away,  'she  did  not 
love  the  ministry  there ;  but  if  she  did  not  love  it 
now,  she  performed  it  so  tenderly  that  the  sick 
and  the  aged  learned  to  listen  for  her  footsteps  and 
her  voice.  The  "little  mother,"  whose  mind  re- 
mained much  like  the  mind  of  a  child,  content  to 


KATHARINE   GRAY  357 

be  in  the  presence  of  those  she  loved,  seemed  to 
grow  feeble,  and  as  Gretta  needed  her  less  she 
clung  to  Katharine,  who  made  her  more  and 
more  her  special  care.  Debby,  too  old  to  serve 
much,  but  free  to  love  Gretta  as  much  as  her 
old  heart  dictated,  finding  that  Katharine  no 
longer  repulsed  and  chilled  her,  was  ready  to  out- 
pour upon  her  unstinted  affection,  and  Mrs.  Mait- 
land  also  seemed  to  recognize  the  new  spirit  that 
was  in  her,  and  was  even  more  dependent  upon  her 
than  she  had  ever  been  before. 

"  It  grieves  me  to  leave  her  before  Gretta  is  quite 
strong,"  ]^rs.  Gray  said  one  day  to  Theodore  as 
they  were  arranging  for  her  departure,  which  he 
had  always  accepted  as  a  settled  thing. 

"Why  not  wait  a  little  longer?"  he  asked,  "or 
why  not  let  me  go  for  you  and  represent  you  in  the 
things  you  wish  to  bring  to  pass  ?  You  promised 
that  I  should  be  to  you  as  a  son." 

"  But  your  own  mother  surely  should  not  be  left 
now,  Theodore,  and  no  one  could  do  my  duty  for 
me,"  she  answered,  sadly.  "  If  only  you  could 
grow  happier  here  when  I  am  gone.  I  know  what 
you  think  would  make  you  .happy,  Ted." 

"  Yes,  and  I  wish  it  might  be  to-morrow,"  he  an- 
swered, eagerly. 

"And  I  also  wish  it  might  be  soon,"  said  Kath- 
arine. 

"  Please,  mother,  dear  mother,  do  not  say  it," 
broke  in  Gretta.  "  You  wish  it  might  be  because 
you  are  unwilling  to  leave  me  alone.  I  do  not  think 
I  ought  to  be  left.  I  want  to  go  where  you  go,  to 
live  as  you  live." 


358  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  We  cannot  both  leave  Mrs.  Maitland  until 
Margaret  comes,  though  we  have  neither  of  us 
any  right  to  be  here,"  she  added,  as  if  to  herself ; 
"  yet  her  heart  would  break  without  you,  Gretta." 

"  But  by-and-by,  when  you  go  permanently,  as  I 
know  you  will,  I  want  to  go  with  you." 

"  And  I  mean  to  go  also,"  said  Theodore. 

"The  duty  is  mine,"  she  said,  bitterly  "If  only 
I  could  do  all  and  suffer  all  alone." 

"The  duty  is  ours,"  said  Gretta,  kissing  her; 
"  not  dear  Ted's,  but  yours  and  mine,  dear  mother." 

"And  am  I  to  be  left  out?"  said  Theodore. 
"  Am  I  not  to  be  allowed  to  help  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  not  now,"  said  Katharine.  "  Wait  till 
I  return.  It  will  not  be  long.  I  shall  see  the  next 
step  clearer  after  the  first  is  taken.  I  can  bear 
anything  but  the  thought  that  I  have  wrecked  life 
for  you  two.  Could  you  not  let  me  go  altogether 
and  you  be  happy  in  each  other  ? " 

"And  leave  you  to  bear  your  life  alone ?"  said 
Gretta,  earnestly.  "  We  two  are  happy  in  each  other, 
and  I  am  happier  in  you,  mother,  than  I  have  ever 
been  in  all  my  life ;  I  love  you  so,"  she  said,  the 
tears  starting  to  her  eyes.  "  Only  one  thing  hurts 
me  now.  I  want  to  take  our  own  little  place  in  the 
world,  to  be  where  I  can  call  you  'mother.'  I  am 
almost  strong  again ;  let  me  work  too.  As  for  Theo- 
dore, he  knows  I  am  right.  How  could  he  trust  or 
honor  me  if  I  went  to  home  and  shelter  and  peace, 
and  let  you  go  out  to  fight  the  world  alone  ? " 

"  We  will  all  go  together,"  said  Theodore,  gently ; 
"  but  not  quite  yet." 

"No,  not  yet,"  answered  Katharine.     "Let  me 


KATHARINE  GRAY  359 

go  alone  now.  Do  not  make  it  too  hard  for  me  to 
do  my  duty  ;  only  promise  me,  Theodore,  that  you 
will  take  care  of  Gretta  till  I  come  back." 

"  How  long  ? "  said  Gretta,  clinging  to  her  moth- 
er's hand. 

"  Not  long.  I  may  return  at  Easter,  and  you 
shall  hear  from  me  every  day." 

"  What  shall  you  say  to  Mrs.  Maitland  ? " 

"  The  truth,  that  I  have  a  duty  to  perform  that 
has  waited  too  long.  She  will  be  willing,  and  you 
are  to  summon  me  at  once  if  she  is  ill." 

And  two  days  later,  Katharine  was  gone,  not  as 
she  would  have  preferred  to  go,  without  a  word  to 
any  one  of  them,  but  in  the  only  way  she  could  go, 
if  she  did  not  wish  to  leave  them  all  with  hearts 
too  sore  for  endurance. 

After  the  date  of  her  departure  was  fixed,  Kath- 
arine had  written  to  Margaret,  sending  as  usual 
through  the  Teachers'  Agency  in  New  York. 

"  I  am  going  to  Chicago,"  she  wrote ;  "  I  believe  you 
are  there.  I  want  to  see  you,  not  only  for  my  sake, 
but  far  more  for  your  own.  I  shall  not  go  to  a  hotel, 
but  have  written  for  rooms  at  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Brown,  an  old  pensioner  of  Mr.  Conrad's  in  — 
Street  on  the  north  side.  If  you  are  unwilling  I 
should  know  your  residence,  you  can  come  to  me 
there.  My  train  arrives  on  Thursday  morning.  I 
shall  stay  indoors  all  day  for  you." 

It  was  a  sad  journey,  this  of  atonement.  When 
last  she  passed  over  this  road  she  was  young  and 
wretched,  fleeing  to  escape  the  crosses  of  her  life. 
Now  she  was  returning  to  take  up  the  task  she 
hated,  in  the  presence  she  abhorred. 


360  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

It  was  evening  when  she  arrived  in  the  great 
bustling  city.  She  had  stopped  in  New  York  at 
the  Teachers'  Agency  to  try  once  more  for  Mar- 
garet's address  ;  but  beyond  the  fact  that  she  was  in 
Chicago  still,  they  declined  to  give  her  any  infor- 
mation. 

For  the  first  time,  on  this  journey  she  had  an 
opportunity  to  practise  the  new  principle  that  must 
henceforth  dominate  every  phase  of  her  personal 
life.  The  love  of  luxury,  the  delight  in  pleasant 
things  about  her,  the  ease  and  comfort  to  which  for 
years  she  had  been  accustomed,  these  were  no 
longer  for  her.  •  She  took  her  place  in  the  throng 
of  the  great  middle-class  travelers,  instead  of  in 
the  drawing-room  car  with  the  few  fastidious  ones 
who,  on  this  particular  journey,  had  it  entirely  to 
themselves.  With  the  great  debt  of  a  lifetime 
behind  her,  necessity  only  must  determine  here- 
after the  limit  of  personal  expenditures. 

She  had  been  greatly  interested  in  hearing  Theo- 
dore's tale  of  the  dear  old  lodging-house  keeper, 
from  whom  he  stole  the  baby,  and  into  whose  life, 
during  all  these  years,  he  had  brought  a  measure  of 
comfort  and  repose.  And  when  he  gave  her  the 
address  it  only  occurred  to  him,  that,  with  the  new- 
born kindliness  of  her  heart,  she  desired  to  take  to 
this  old  woman  some  news  of  him.  But  for  the 
same  reason  that  at  night  she  slept  with  her  cloak 
for  a  pillow,  she  also  avoided  the  hotel,  and  sought 
the  little  lodging  house  on  the  north  side,  with 
which  she  had  already  so  many  associations. 

An  aged  woman,  bent  and  slight,  with  a  few  faint 
streaks  of  yellowish  gray  hair  straggling  from  under 


KATHARINE  GRAY  361 

her  black  lace  cap,  received  her,  and  taking  her  up 
two  flights  of  stairs,  explained  that  the  second  floor 
rooms  were  taken  by  an  invalid  gentleman  and  his 
daughter,  who  would  gladly  have  gone  to  the  third 
floor,  but  for  the  fact  that  the  gentleman  was  too 
feeble  to  climb  the  stairs.  "  It  is  well  for  me,"  she 
added,  "  that  they  did  decide  to  remain  on  the  first 
floor,  for  the  daughter  has  gone  East,  and  now  the 
care  of  her  father  has  fallen  upon  me,  and  since 
she  left  he  has  grown  very,  very  ill." 

"  That  must  make  you  very  weary,"  said  Kath- 
arine kindly. 

"No,  not  over-weary,"  said  the.  old  woman  pa- 
tiently ;  "  but  I  am  not  as  young  or  as  strong  as  I 
was  once.  And  the  daughter  only  went  away  last 
night." 

"  I  thought  you  would  like  to  know  how  I  chanced 
to  come  here,"  said  Katharine,  motioning  the  woman 
to  a  seat  while  she  removed  her  wraps.  "  Your 
old  friend,  Mr.  Conrad,  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  he 
told  me  that  you  had  taken  good  care  of  him  when 
he  was  a  little  boy  ;  and  farther  back  than  that  he 
told  me  what  beautiful  care  you  took  of  a  little 
baby  that  was  left  in  your  charge  for  a  time.  So  I 
thought  that  instead  of  going  to  a  hotel,  I  would 
come  and  ask  you  to  take  care  of  me." 

With  this  introduction,  the  wrinkled  old  face 
brightened,  and  Katharine  knew  that  hand  and 
heart,  and  all  the  little  home  possessed,  were  quite 
at  her  disposal.  As  she  passed  down  to  the  tiny 
dining  room,  where  these  kind  old  hands  had  pre- 
pared some  refreshment  for  her,  she  noticed  among 
the  letters  that  lay  upon  the  hat-rack,  one  addressed 


362  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

to  Margaret  Graham.  Glancing  at  it  a  second  time, 
she  saw  that  it  was  her  own  letter,  sent  to  New 
York  and  re-addressed  to  this  house. 

She  knew,  as  she  seated  herself  opposite  Mrs. 
Brown,  that  the  broiled  chicken  and  the  toast  had 
been  prepared  by  the  trembling  old  hands,  and 
when  she  saw  that  she  had  put  on  a  fresh  print 
dress  and  a  Sunday  cap,  that  she  might  sit  by  her 
and  pour  her  tea,  her  heart  was  touched  ;  yet  she 
could  think  of  nothing  but  that  letter.  Looking 
her  landlady  straight  in  the  face,  as  she  passed  her 
cup,  she  said,  "Is  there  with  you  a  lodger  named 
Margaret  Graham  ? " 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  and  beautiful  she  is  too,  and  such 
a  singer.  Her  voice  is  as  sweet  a  one  as  we  can 
ever  hope  to  hear  in  heaven.  It  is  her  father  who 
is  so  ill  upstairs." 

"  And  she  has  gone  ? " 

"  Yes,  some  one  she  loved  very  much  in  the  East 
has  been  ill,  and  though  they  wrote  her  that  she 
was  almost  well  now,  she  grew  so  anxious  and  so 
eager  to  go,  that  I  told  her  I  would  take  care  of 
her  father  if  she  would  only  be  gone  a  week.  I 
have  known  the  family  many,  many  years.  Her 
father,  Mr.  Robert  Gray " 

"  But  I  thought  her  name  was  Graham,"  said 
Katharine. 

"  Yes,  many  of  her  friends  write  to  her  as  Miss 
Graham,  because  when  she  was  studying  abroad  she 
lived  for  years  with  a  Mrs.  Graham,  and  many  peo- 
ple think  that  is  her  name." 

"But  you  were  telling  me  about  her  father." 

"  Yes,  I  was  his  nurse  when  he  was  a  little  tiny 


363 

lad  and  I  was  a  young  woman.  He  married  un- 
fortunately, and  took  to  evil  ways.  His  wife  de- 
serted him,  and  this  little  daughter  of  his  was  in 
my  care.  It  is  a  long  story,  ma'am,  and  may  tire 
you.  The  family  came  from  wealth  to  poverty,  and 
Robert,  who  is  here  with  me  now,  went  from  bad 
to  worse,  and  the  daughter  had  to  take  care  of  her- 
self. She  has  been  supporting  herself  teaching 
music,  and  now,  because  his  health  is  so  poor,  she 
has  come  back  to  nurse  and  watch  over  him.  She 
will  be  back  in  a  week." 

"  She  will  not  be  back  so  soon,  Mrs.  Brown," 
said  Katharine.  "  My  name  is  Gray.  I  am  Robert 
Gray's  wife.  I  have  come  back  to  nurse  and  care 
for  him  myself.  Margaret  will  stay  for  a  while  in 
the  East." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  can  keep  her  away  from  her 
poor  father.  She  is  the  most  dutiful  of  daughters," 
said  the  old  lady,  with  a  little  touch  of  suspicion 
under  her  great  surprise. 

"  Perhaps  we  need  not  say  so  to  her  father  if  he 
is  very  ill,  but  she  will  not  come  back  again." 

"  And  you,  you — was  it  you  who  deserted  him 
and  forsook  that  lovely  child  ?  " 

"  No,  Mrs.  Brown  ;  it  was  he  who  took  the  child 
away  from  me ;  but  we  need  never  talk  of  this.  I 
know  he  is  sick  and  in  trouble.  I  have  come  to  see 
if  I  can  minister  to  him." 

The  old  lady  gazed  at  her  in  astonishment. 
"  Well,  if  you  would  do  that,  then  you  could  never 
have  been  so  bad ;  you  never  would  have  forsaken 
your  child." 

"  I  never  forsook  my  child,"  Katharine  repeated. 


364  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

"  I  was  often  hard  to  Robert.  I  was  impatient  and 
angry  with  all  his  wretched  ways,  but  I  shall  be 
gentle  enough  with  him  now.  You  need  not  fear 
that  I  will  not  be  kind  and  good  to  him." 

Afterward  she  went  to  him,  lingering  first  a  mo- 
ment in  her  own  room,  striving  to  conquer  the  dis- 
like and  reluctant  dread  that  tempted  her  almost 
beyond  control  to  fly  without  a  moment's  delay 
out  of  the  house  and  away,  as  fast  as  she  could,  to 
the  things  and  the  people  that  she  loved.  And  be- 
cause the  longer  she  waited  the  heavier  grew  the 
dread,  she  went  almost  at  once. 

He  was  lying  with  his  face  turned  toward  the 
window,  apparently  asleep,  his  face  wasted  and 
sunken  far  beyond  the  haggard  look  it  wore  when 
she  had  seen  him  last.  She  bent  over  him,  putting 
both  hands  behind  her,  with  the  instinctive  feeling 
that  no  power  could  ever  make  her  touch  him  ;  and 
then,  remembering  her  own  life,  the  angels  of 
mercy  and  pity  pleaded  for  him,  and  when  he 
looked  up  at  her  and  knew  her,  she  was  able  to  say, 
"  I  am  sorry  you  are  suffering  so  much,  Robert.  I 
have  come  back  to  see  if  I  cannot  take  care  of 
you,  and  help  to  make  you  better."  And  he  simply 
gazed  and  gazed,  looking  with  a  child's  wonder  in 
his  eyes,  at  the  whitened  hair  and  the  pallid  face 
and  the  pitying  eyes,  and  never  said  one  word. 

And  as  she  answered  his  look,  the  tears  filled  her 
eyes,  and  for  the  first  time  for  twenty  years,  she 
knew  in  her  heart  that  she  forgave,  even  as  she 
hoped  to  be  forgiven.  A  frightful  fit  of  coughing 
racked  his  frame.  She  raised  his  head,  and  as  ten- 
derly as  she  would  have  done  it  for  Gretta. 


KATHARINE  GRAY  365 

"  Margaret  has  gone  away  ?  When  will  she  come 
back  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Not  just  at  present,  Robert.  I  am  going  to 
stay  and  take  her  place.  I  can  take  care  of  you. 
Don't  you  remember  I  did  it  a  great  many  times 
when  we  were  younger  and  you  were  ill  ?  You  have 
grown  more  ill  since  she  went  away  ? " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  difficulty,  "  a  hemor- 
rhage yesterday  after  she  was  gone."  And  then, 
from  very  weakness,  his  mind  seemed  to  let  go  its 
wonder  and  its  sense  of  anything  unusual  in  her 
presence.  That  he  should  be  taken  care  of  by 
some  woman  if  he  were  ill,  this  was  a  matter  of 
course.  He  had  always  had  this.  His  surprise 
would  have  been  greater  had  no  woman  appeared  to 
nurse  and  strive  to  ease  him  of  his  pain. 

That  very  night  Katharine  sent  for  the  phy- 
sician, and  asked  him  on  the  following  morning  to 
bring  another.  Could  Robert  be  moved?  Could 
he  be  taken  to  some  climate  that  would  be  more 
favorable  to  his  condition  ?  Could  his  life  be  saved, 
or  could  it  be  prolonged  ?  And  when  she  found 
that  there  was  scarce  a  chance  of  either,  she  set 
herself  to  making  him  not  only  as  comfortable,  but 
as  happy  as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  be. 

A  telegram  was  sent  to  Dr.  Moore  to  tell  them 
to  keep  Margaret  when  she  came,  and  letters  fol- 
lowed, saying  she  herself  was  where  she  ought  to 
be,  and  where  she  wished  to  be,  and  where  she 
should  remain.  Robert's  condition  of  weakness 
was  such  that  he  neither  missed  nor  asked  for  Mar- 
garet, who  need  have  no  fear  that  it  was  her  duty 
to  return.  As  for  the  story  that  must  be  told  Mar- 


366  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

garet  by-and-by,  they  must  do  as  they  thought  best, 
tell  her  now  or  wait  till  she,  Katharine,  should  be 
back  among  them  again  ;  it  could  not  be  very  long. 

And  yet  it  was  longer  than  they  thought.  There 
was  time  for  the  ebbing  and  flowing,  again  and 
again,  of  the  poor,  wrecked,  and  wasted  life ;  there 
was  time  for  curses  and  hatred  and  every  evil 
passion  to  rage  within  the  sufferer's  breast,  be- 
cause of  his  anger  that  he  must  die.  There  was 
time  for  days  of  maudlin  weakness  and  childish 
penitence  and  plenty  of  tears.  Yet  through  all 
this,  she  led  him  day  by  day  and  hour  by  hour, 
with  such  patience  and  tenderness  as  won  him  to 
be,  in  her  hands,  as  plastic  and  as  gentle  as  a  child. 
When  he  abused  her  in  his  hours  of  rebellion  she 
quieted  him  by  admitting  that  she  had  been  wrong, 
in  one  way  as  wrong  or  worse  than  he  or  than  any 
one  could  know.  As  the  weakness  grew  he  clung 
to  her  more  and  more,  like  a  child  to  its  mother,  and 
when  at  last  he  fell  asleep  one  peaceful  twilight, 
there  was  left  in  her  heart  all  the  new  pity  for  his 
weakness,  and  there  was  gone  from  her  all  the  self- 
pity  for  her  own  great  wrongs. 

She  lingered  only  one  day  after  the  simple  burial. 
All  of  Margaret's  belongings  and  her  own,  she  had 
packed  and  sent  away.  She  bade  Mrs.  Brown  good- 
bye in  the  late  afternoon,  and  then  went  over  to  that 
ivy-grown  church  on  the  corner,  and  rinding  Ted's 
quiet  place  behind  a  column,  she  listened  while  the 
evening  service  was  being  held,  and  the  orga*i 
notes  went  wandering  through  the  arches,  and 
the  shadows  came.  She  was  conscious  of  all,  yet  • 
really  heard  nothing  save  the  voices  in  her  own 


KATHARINE  GRAY  367 

soul  that  chided  and  rebuked  and  refused  to  listen 
to  any  whisper  of  peace. 

The  music  ceased.  The  people  went  out  softly. 
The  figures  on  the  stained  glass  windows  of  apostle 
and  martyr  and  saint,  grew  dimmer  and  dimmer 
as  the  night  came  on,  and  then  when  the  old  sexton 
was  ready  to  close  the  church,  with  the  burden  of 
all  her  past  life  upon  her,  yet  with  the  first  stage  of 
her  soul's  home-journey  over,  she  went  forth  once 
more  to  take  the  train  to  the  East. 

Believing  that  Robert  might  linger  for  many 
months,  she  had  in  every  letter  urged  Gretta  to 
consent  to  Theodore's  desire  that  they  should  be 
married  with  Harold  and  Margaret,  in  the  dear  old 
library  on  the  evening  of  Easter  Monday.  She 
knew  that  Robert  could  not  be  moved,  or  sometimes 
she  would  have  been  tempted,  her  longing  to  go 
was  such,  to  take  him  to  Wildholm,  and  let  him 
know  Gretta,  and  live  out  his  life  amid  the  bene- 
dictions of  that  home.  Very  gently  one  day, 
when  he  was  strong  enough  to  bear  it,  when  he 
was  weakly  bewailing  his  own  errors,  she  had 
opened  up  to  him  the  iniquity  of  her  own  life, 
and  revealed  to  him  that  Margaret  was  not  his 
child.  That  Gretta  was  still  too  feeble  to  make 
the  journey  to  see  him,  he  understood  ;  but  if  only 
Katharine  stayed  with  him  his  heart  was  quite  con- 
tent. But  she  knew  not  how  long  it  might  be,  and 
she  knew  also  that  after  the  awful  secret  that  must 
be  told  to  Mrs.  Maitland  and  to  Margaret  was  once 
known,  she  herself,  however  much  they  might 
pity  her  and  urge  her,  could  never  remain  at  Wild- 
holm.  Only  Gretta's  marriage  would  deter  the 


368  THE  TEMPTATION  OP 

girl  from  sharing  what  she  knew  must  henceforth 
be  a  wandering  and  a  bitter  life.  To  be  there  and 
see  this  marriage,  and  know  that  her  own  deceit 
was  as  yet  unconfessed  and  unatoned,  seemed  im- 
possible ;  to  be  there  and  see  them  struggling 
to  be  happy,  after  the  truth  was  known,  seemed 
more  impossible  still;  and  yet  when  Robert  was 
gone  she  never  waited  except  for  that  hour  of 
twilight  in  the  church. 

If  she  could  have  hidden  in  some  silent  place 
until  the  wedding  was  over,  and  know  that  in 
deed  and  truth,  as  well  as  in  word,  she  had  given 
up  her  child,  she  would  have  been  grateful.  She 
thought  of  the  old  Shaker  home  at  Loriston,  of  the 
little  whitewashed  room,  furnished  with  the  bare 
necessaries  of  existence — of  a  silence  and  solitude  in 
which  a  soul  might  wrap  its  own  sorrow  or  immure 
its  own  content — and  the  temptation  to  hide  herself 
there  was  very  strong.  She  had  not  told  them  at 
Wildholm  of  Robert's  death.  They  did  not  know 
she  was  coming,  and  until  it  was  all  over  they  would 
never  know  that  she  could  have  come.  But  while 
she  hesitated,  she  remembered  that  for  Gretta,  her 
own  child,  the  joy  of  this  wedding-day  would  not 
be  the  same  without  the  sight  of  her  mother's  face. 
And  what  was  she  that  she  should  give  a  pain  to  save 
herself  a  pain  ?  So  she  went  on,  reaching  home 
on  Saturday  night.  It  was  the  time  of  the  even- 
ing prayer,  and  she  stole  in  softly,  and  kneeling  in 
her  black  dress,  buried  her  white  face  in  her  hands. 

When  they  arose  Gretta  sprang  to  her  arms,  and 
Theodore  folded  his  about  them  both. 

Unconventional  as  it  might  seem  for  the  wed- 


KATHARINE   GRAY  369 

dings  not  to  be  delayed  by  Robert's  death,  the 
joy  of  that  occasion  was  a  very  sacred  and  sol- 
emn joy,  that  had  in  it  more  than  one  element 
of  sacrifice.  To  Mrs.  Maitland,  while  it  was  like 
the  gaining  of  two  strong  sons,  it  was  in  another 
way  the  giving  up  of  two  lovely  daughters  of  the 
house.  To  Katharine  it  was  the  final  submission 
and  yielding  to  separation  from  Gretta's  after-life. 
After  this  there  could  be  no  lingering  hope  that  she 
would  have  her  with  her,  come  what  might,  as  long 
as  both  should  live.  As  she  had  vowed  to  do,  she 
gave  her  up  utterly,  knowing  that  however  much 
they  might  keep  her  in  their  hearts,  henceforth 
she  was  to  live  her  life  alone.  But  perhaps  for  no 
one  was  the  renunciation  greater  than  for  Margaret, 
who  ought,  as  she  believed,  to  devote  her  life 
utterly  to  women  who  suffered  and  struggled  as 
she  had  done,  and  who,  for  the  great  love  she  bore 
to  Harold  Moore,  laid  down  this  career,  accepted 
his  view  of  duty  when  he  said,  "  Living  for  each 
other,  there  are  two  of  us  to  multiply  the  good  that 
we  shall  do,  because  we  each  shall  live  and  work 
for  that  for  which  the  other  cares."  And  for 
Gretta  to  give  up  her  unwillingness  that  any  one 
but  herself  and  her  mother  should  have  any  share 
in  the  work  of  atonement  they  meant  to  do,  to  yield 
the  pride  that  would  even  have  shut  Theodore  out, 
was  a  triumph  indeed  for  love.  Steadily  she  held 
that,  even  loving  him,  her  first  duty  until  it  was  per- 
formed, was  not  to  him  and  not  to  the  world,  but 
to  the  redemption  of  her  mother's  life  from  any 
trace  of  debt  or  any  shadow  of  shame.  And  Theo- 
dore's heart  held  a  love  large  enough  to  take  her, 

Y 


370  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

letting  these  thoughts  have  dominion  over  her, 
knowing  that  soon  or  late,  the  love  that  would  serve 
Katharine  and  help  her  in  carrying  out  her  life, 
would  return  full  freighted  to  his  own. 

What  wonder  then  that  the  wedding  time  was  as 
solemn  and  sad  as  it  was  joyful  and  sweet.  From 
its  sacredness  they  shut  out  all  people  except  their 
very  own.  Mrs.  Maitland  and  the  "  little  mother," 
and  Katharine  and  Deborah,  and  two  or  three  of 
the  old  servants  in  the  background,  made  the  group 
in  the  library.  And  after  it  there  was  a  little  feast 
together,  in  which  they  were  too  peaceful  to  be 
merry,  too  tender  to  be  gay.  And  later  still,  in 
the  moonlight  on  the  veranda,  in  the  last  hours 
before  the  young  couples  went  their  way,  there 
gathered  a  group  around  Mrs.  Maitland,  with  Har- 
old and  Margaret  on  one  side,  and  Theodore  on 
the  other,  and  at  her  feet  Katharine  with  one  arm 
tightly  around  Gretta,  who  rested  her  head  upon 
her  breast,  while  she  told  in  broken  words,  inter- 
rupted often  by  sobs,  the  tale  of  her  early  tempta- 
tion, and  yielding,  and  sin,  and  penitence,  and  her 
resolve  of  restoration  that  should  be  fourfold,  and  of 
the  consecration  of  her  after-life  to  the  comforting 
of  those  who  suffer  and  the  rescue  of  those  who 
sin. 

They  did  not  interrupt  her  as,  with  low,  broken 
tones,  gathering  strength  as  she  went  on,  she  made 
the  awful  revelation.  And  when  it  was  over,  Gretta 
only  clung  closer  to  her,  and  Margaret  only  said, 
"  I  knew  most  of  it  before.  You  wrote  them  to 
tell  me  or  not,  as  they  thought  best,  auntie,  and  of 
course  Harold  had  to  tell  me  something,  or  he 


KATHARINE   GRAY  371 

never  could  have  kept  me  away  from  that  sick-room 
in  Chicago.  And  we  are  both  agreed,  Harold  and  I, 
that  perhaps  there  has  been  wrought  for  me  less 
harm  than  good,  for  without  the  hard  life  that  came 
in  my  youth,  how  could  I  ever  have  helped,  as  I 
mean  to  do,  the  other  working  girls  ? " 

"  Why  should  you  separate  yourself  from  us  now, 
aunt,"  he  asked,  smiling  as  he  used  the  new  name, 
"  when  everything  is  past  and  forgiven  ?  You 
must  think  that  you  have  four  children  now  where 
you  had  but  one.  Why  shouldn't  everything  be- 
tween us  be  just  forever  the  same  ?  " 

"  Not  the  same,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  her  voice 
trembling  with  tears.  "  Not  the  same  ;  it  ought  to 
be  infinitely  better.  The  old  life  dead,  the  old 
hard  hearts  softened  and  filled  with  love,  and  a  new 
life  that  means,  for  every  one  of  us,  blessing  to  all 
who  suffer,  uplifting  for  all  who  sin — a  life  that  has 
at  last  God  at  its  very  heart,  that  must  be  mighty 
for  good  because  he  is  mighty  and  because  he  is  in 
the  midst." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  wedding  journey,  taken  in  different  direc- 
tions, ended  for  both  young  couples  at  the 
old  parsonage,  which  had  stood  for  some  time  va- 
cant. The  old  man  of  business  had  gone,  and  to 
his  son  had  come  the  care  of  all.  When  they  ar- 
rived they  found  that  Katharine  had  been  there, 
and  had  brought  old  Deborah,  lingering  herself 
only  long  enough  to  arrange  that  everything  should 
be  put  in  order  for  the  others. 

The  man  who  had  charge  of  the  business  had 
been  instructed  to  bring  all  the  books  and  accounts 
for  all  the  years  to  Harold,  and  he  said  that  Mrs. 
Gray  had  taken  from  him  minute  record  of  all  that 
had  been  spent,  and  all  that  had  ever  passed 
through  her  hands  for  the  support  of  herself  and  the 
child. 

How  Katharine's  heart  ached  for  one  more  in- 
dulgence, just  to  linger  and  see  them  when  they 
.came ;  but  no,  their  pleasure  must  not  be  marred 
by  the  haunting  shadow  of  her  presence.  They 
were  to  come  at  night.  Old  Job  took  her  and  her 
trunk  to  the  afternoon  train,  but  she  waited  till  he 
was  gone  and  then  walked  back  by  a  quiet  road  to 
the  churchyard,  and  lingered  there  by  the  graves  of 
her  parents  and  her  sister  till  she  heard  the  rumble 
of  the  wheels  and  the  bark  of  Job's  dog,  and  saw  the 
lights  flash  out  from  the  windows  of  the  chambers 
372 


KATHARINE  GRAY  373 

and  the  old  south  room.  What  voices  whispered 
to  her  in  the  silence  !  What  forgiving  faces  shone 
upon  her  out  of  the  shadows ;  what  she  suffered  as 
she  stole  back  in  the  darkness  to  the  station  to  take 
the  evening  train,  no  one  but  God  could  know ! 
Perhaps  each  step  that  took  her  farther  and  farther 
away  from  her  loved  ones  took  her  one  step  nearer 
to  him.  She  went  straight  to  Loriston,  and  while 
they  were  at  the  parsonage,  she  had  her  two  or 
three  days  of  silence  and  solitude  in  the  bare  little 
cell,  and  there,  sitting  by  the  bed  of  the  aged  man 
who  had  begged  her  to  rear  Gretta  in  the  love  and 
fear  of  God,  she  told  him,  as  she  might  have  done 
had  he  been  a  monk  of  mediaeval  time  and  she  the 
penitent  in  the  confessional,  the  story  of  defeat  and 
shame  by  which  she  had  learned  at  last  that  which 
he  had  tried  to  teach  her  long  ago,  that  life  without 
God  was  not  life,  but  anguish  and  humiliation  and 
shame. 

After  a  time  the  four  went  back  to  Wildholm, 
Harold  and  Margaret  into  the  house  where  it  was 
the  hope  of  all  that  Gretta  would  return.  Mrs. 
Maitland's  old  heart  pined  for  her.  Her  welcome 
for  Margaret  was  full  of  sincerity  and  affection,  yet 
her  nature  was  broad  enough  to  receive  the  new 
love  without  any  sacrifice  of  the  old,  and  Gretta  was 
simply  in  her  old  place,  the  child  of  her  lovely  old 
age.  To  be  near  her,  where  she  could  see  her 
every  day  and  help  in  the  west  wing  ministry,  they 
took  a  cottage  just  outside  the  grounds,  where  she 
lived  with  Theodore  and  the  "little  mother"  a  life 
of  such  simplicity  as  made  everybody  wonder  if  the 
tide  of  fortune  had  turned,  against  the  handsome 


374  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

young  senator,  whose  advent  in  Washington  society 
had  made  a  flutter  in  the  breast  of  more  than  one 
mother  of  marriageable  daughters. 

Theodore  plunged  steadily  into  work,  and  with 
his  usual  insight  and  sympathy,  encouraged  and 
united  with  Gretta  in  every  economy.  The  desire 
to  go  into  the  world  with  her  mother,  and  to  share 
the  working  woman's  life,  had  been  her  one  objec- 
tion to  the  early  marriage.  She  had  been  eager  to 
apply  for  a  teacher's  position  at  Castleton,  and  her 
heart  had  no  stronger  proof  that  she  and  her  hus- 
band were  truly  one  than  her  yielding  to  his  plead- 
ing that  he  might  share  the  son's  privilege  of  toil- 
ing and  saving  for  their  mutual  end.  Neither  one 
of  them  would  rest  any  more  than  would  Katharine 
until  the  uttermost  farthing  went  back  to  the  Wild 
estate. 

Though  she  gave  up  the  teaching,  she  did  not 
swerve  from  her  purpose  to  add  her  earning  forces 
to  those  of  the  other  two.  Her  sensitiveness  and 
lack  of  self-confidence  would  have  inclined  her  to 
hide  her  experiments  and  failures  and  partial  suc- 
cesses ;  but  she  never  forgot  a  warning  word  of 
Mrs.  Maitland's,  or  the  resolve  that  followed  it, 
never  to  have  unnecessary  secrets,  to  avoid  the 
habit  of  concealment  or  even  the  shadow  of  deceit. 
She  could  not  sit  opposite  Theodore  at  table,  or  in 
her  old  seat  at  Mrs.  Maitland's  feet,  and  let  them 
suppose  they  knew  and  shared  her  life,  when  she 
was  spending  hours  of  her  absence  from  them  in 
thoughts  and  work  of  which  they  never  dreamed. 
So  she  took  to  both  her  bits  of  verse  and  her 
sketches  and  little  stories,  and  showed  the  returned 


KATHARINE   GRAY  375 

manuscripts  to  them,  in  spite  of  her  mortification 
and  shame,  and  carried  to  them  with  all  the  glee  of 
a  child  the  few  little  checks  that,  now  and  then,  at 
rare  intervals,  gave  her  courage  to  try  again. 

In  the  little  cottage  the  room  she  had  taken  for 
her  study  and  work  was  one  that  was  always  held 
in  readiness  for  her  mother's  use ;  but  Katharine, 
entered  already  upon  her  duty  of  restitution,  very 
rarely  came  except  for  a  night.  She  was  making 
no  child's  play  at  penitence.  When  it  was  known 
that  she  would  accept  a  position  that  would  bring 
remuneration,  Castleton  opened  its  doors  both  to 
her  and  to  Gretta,  and  a  prominent  philanthropic 
association  offered  her  a  high  position  in  the  man- 
agement of  its  work.  Both  were  declined,  because 
to  hold  either  implied  a  character  above  reproach. 
She  could  not  publish  her  unworthiness  in  the 
market  place,  or  cry  out  from  the  housetops,  but  she 
could  keep  herself  from  seeming  to  be  what  she  was 
not.  She  might  work  harder,  bear  this  part  of  her 
punishment  longer,  but  it  must  be  honest  money 
this  time  and  earned  by  honest  toil.  She  found  it 
at  first  in  the  care  of  a  children's  hospital  supported 
by  private  funds.  There  came  mother-work  with- 
out the  coveted  mother-joy.  From  this  center  her 
life  radiated  to  even  wider  fields  in  the  homes  of 
the  very  poor.  The  physical  condition  of  the  little 
ones  under  her  care  was  such  a  revelation  of  the 
ignorance  of  the  mothers  in  such  homes  as  those 
from  which  they  had  come,  that  she  began  a  work 
of  teaching  these  mothers  in  their  homes,  that  could 
not  possibly  bring  her  any  credit,  but  which  became 
the  nucleus  of  a  great  work  resulting  ultimately 


376  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

in  the  redemption  of  many  homes.  Her  passion  for 
motherhood  took  the  form  of  helping  other  women 
to  be  good  mothers,  and  no  home  was  too  squalid, 
no  task  too  menial,  for  her  with  her  own  hands  to 
show  the  mothers  how  their  wretched  rooms  might 
be  transformed  to  homes.  From  tasks  like  these 
she  gave  herself,  as  long  as  the  old  Elder  of  the 
Shaker  Community  lived,  now  and  then  a  few  days' 
rest  in  the  little  white-walled  chamber,  which  was 
to  her  like  the  cell  of  a  convent  in  which  a  world- 
weary  penitent  hides  for  the  time  of  "retreat." 

To  Wildholm  she  could  never  freely  go  back, 
though  only  forgiving  tenderness  met  her  there, 
and  no  one,  not  even  old  Deborah,  was  told  the 
story  of  her  shame.  The  old  creature's  heart  vi- 
brated between  the  two  young  wives,  feeling  it  rea- 
sonable enough  that  Mrs.  Maitland,  now  very  infirm, 
should  need  to  have  the  doctor  in  the  house,  and 
reasonable  that  Judge  Conrad  should  want  Gretta 
all  to  himself.  Sometimes  when  Katharine  came 
to  the  cottage  for  a  night,  she  came  up  through  the 
garden  in  the  dark,  and  alone  in  Mrs.  Maitland's 
chamber  the  soul  that  had  always  been  true  met  in 
solemn  converse  the  other  soul  that  had  always 
been  false,  and  they  drew  in  such  times  very  near 
to  each  other  and  very  near  to  God.  Mrs.  Maitland 
had  long  ago  ceased  to  urge  Katharine  to  abandon 
her  work  of  restitution,  felt  that  she  did  right  to  re- 
sign from  every  position  in  philanthropic  circles 
that  implied  worthiness  of  trust,  but  held  her  to  her 
promise  to  help  to  develop  the  work  to  which 
Wildholm  was  consecrated,  when  her  other  task  was 
done. 


KATHARINE   GRAY  377 

And  there  came  a  day  when,  notwithstanding 
Mrs.  Maitland's  unwillingness,  shared  fully  by 
Harold  and  Margaret,  everything  spent  in  all  those 
years  for  Gretta  and  her  mother,  was  brought  back 
in  money  earned  and  fourfold  measure  to  the  Wild 
estate,  and  was  promptly  passed  over  to  the  funds 
that  were  to  develop  the  future  plans  that  had  their 
beginning  in  the  old  west  wing.  The  young  people 
could  not  find  it  in  their  hearts  to  give  up  Wild- 
holm,  but  the  west  wing  was  separated  from  the 
main  building  and  extended  and  developed  into  an 
ideal  house  of  rest  for  the  aged  and  weary,  after 
Mrs.  Maitland's  own  heart  and  plan,  and  bearing 
the  name,  Marion  Wild.  It  included  also  a  train- 
ing school  for  domestic  and  other  service,  for  girls 
as  poor  as  Margaret  had  been,  who  had  no  saving 
gift  like  hers.  And  there  came  a  later  day  when 
old  Mr.  Conrad's  fortune,  which  Theodore  had 
always  treated  as  a  trust,  went  far  toward  founding 
the  home  for  boys  and  men,  where  reading  rooms, 
recreation  and  instruction  for  hand,  head,  and  heart, 
united  to  supply  whatever  was  not  put  into  their 
lives  by  work  or  home.  And  still  later  there  came 
a  day  when  the  lands  in  California  and  Australia, 
left  by  Robert,  enabled  Gretta  to  make  a  beginning 
of  that  school  of  philanthropy  and  social  econom- 
ics on  which  her  heart  was  set. 

It  had  always  been  a  theory  of  Mrs.  Maitland,  a 
theory  which  Gretta  had  absorbed,  that  opportunity 
and  privilege  and  a  share  in  all  good  work  for  the 
world,  come  faster  to  women  than  they  are  ready 
for  it ;  that  their  problem  is  how  to  grow  and 
learn  fast  enough  to  keep  pace  with  the  responsi- 


378  THE  TEMPTATION  OF 

bilities  of  their  lives.  She  would  have  all  those 
whose  hearts  would  serve  any  good  cause  or  enter 
upon  any  helpful  work,  whether  missions,  or  tem- 
perance, or  education,  or  social,  or  economic  prob- 
lems, avoid  the  spasmodic,  misguided,  ineffective 
waste  of  energy,  by  placing  study  and  thought  be- 
fore action.  To  provide  place  and  time  and  wise 
instruction  in  order  to  open  up  to  those  whose 
hearts  were  ready  to  help  humanity,  the  true  needs, 
true  conditions,  the  work  already  accomplished 
along  all  lines,  and  true  and  wise  methods  for  fu- 
ture development — this  was  the  purpose  and  hope. 

The  plan  might  in  time  cover  the  world's  work 
along  all  lines  and  in  all  times,  but  at  first  it  aimed 
only  to  gather  a  few  of  the  best  and  most  thought- 
ful women,  to  give  them  knowledge  in  the  hope 
that  each  in  turn  would  impart  it  to  those  who  could 
not  be  otherwise  taught.  It  was  an  effort  against 
ignorance  and  conceit  and  wasteful  enthusiasm,  and 
in  behalf  of  sincerity  in  purpose  and  sound  prin- 
ciples in  action. 

And  Mrs.  Maitland  lived  to  see  the  first  group 
gather,  eager — before  dabbling  in  all  the  world's  re- 
forms, moral,  social,  and  governmental — to  learn  the 
true  significance  and  relation  of  reform,  and  how 
best  to  develop  the  woman  thought  and  the  woman 
heart,  that  it  might  become  a  powerful  and  genuine 
factor  in  the  salvation  of  the  race. 

And  in  all  these  new  homes,  a^nd  in  all  these 
lines  of  work  and  study,  there  came  and  went  a 
quiet  woman  who  gave  her  life  to  practical  experi- 
ment of  others'  plans  and  methods  ;  who  knew  the 
best  thought  of  the  student  as  well  as  the  saddest 


KATHARINE   GRAY  379 

experience  of  the  slums  ;  whose  days  were  a  bene- 
diction by  bedsides  of  pain ;  who  never  spared  her- 
self anywhere ;  but  with  almost  infinite  pity  and 
tenderness,  helped  everything  that  was  wicked  and 
spared  everything  that  was  weak,  and,  keeping  her 
personality  always  in  the  background,  brought  into 
these  various  institutions  the  results  of  her  expe- 
rience and  her  work.  To  her  unceasing,  labors 
they  owed  more,  perhaps,  than  to  any  other  one 
person.  There  were  many  influential  helpers,  a 
fine  Board  of  trustees  and  managers  for  each 
branch  of  Wildholm  work,  but  this  woman,  who 
spoke  in  no  meetings,  served  on  no  committees, 
held  no  position  in  societies,  was  the  one  who  never 
faltered  in  her  insistence  that  all  the  work  should 
be  built  upon  the  one  foundation,  having  God  as 
the  center  and  source  of  its  life. 

And  when  the  day  came  that  other  women  would 
have  done  her  honor,  she  bowed  her  head  and  went 
back  to  the  rooms  in  the  heart  of  the  most  degraded 
section  of  the  city,  that  had  of  late  been  her  home, 
and  sitting  in  the  twilight  opened  her  Bible  and 
read,  as  if  to  strengthen  herself  against  tempta- 
tion, these  lines,  written  on  the  fly-leaf  on  the 
night  when  God  gave  Gretta  back  to  life : 

Therefore  O  friend,  I  would  not,  if  I  might, 
Rebuild  my  house  of  lies  wherein  I  joyed 
One  time  to  dwell.     My  soul  shall  walk  in  white, 
Cast  down  but  not  destroyed 

Therefore  in  patience  I  possess  my  soul, 
Yea,  therefore  as  a  flint  I  set  my  face 
To  cast  down — to  build  up  again  the  whole 
But  in  a  distant  place. 


380  THE  TEMPTATION 

These  thorns  are  sharp,  but  I  can  tread  on  them  ; 

This  cup  is  bitter,  but  he  makes  it  sweet ; 
My  face  is  steadfast  toward  Jerusalem, 
My  heart  remembers  it. 


THE   END 


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